Possibilities of a Life
by andeemae
Summary: Interconnected one shots with Madge and Gale. Some are sad, some are sweet, you've been warned.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Independence Day (Holiday)**

Madge didn't really remember ever celebrating anything back in Twelve. There was no church, the government had abolished those organizations long before she was born and with them all their holy days. They didn't have government vacations either, unless you counted mandatory viewing days which she felt were the opposite of what a vacation was supposed to be. _Days off from work for leisure? What do you need that for?_

Even if they had holidays or vacations, what would there have been to celebrate?

Now, though, three years out from the overthrow of the government, there seemed to be plenty to celebrate. Things are calmer, the infighting between the Districts is at an all time low, the government is stable and, for the most part, trustworthy. It's looking up. For the first time in a long time, there's promise in the air.

Madge stands outside the stadium, studying the twisted metal archway that forms the words 'District 10 Stockyards', before heading in. It's a filthy place, she can still smell the cattle and dust even after what she's certain was a thorough cleaning earlier in the day. She mills in with the rest of the crowd to find a seat.

It's chilly, unseasonably so for this part of the country, and she pulls her hat lower on her head.

Katy-Jo Lewes tosses a scarf over her shoulders. "Told you to dress warmer, ninny."

Her bright golden eyes twinkle at Madge, letting her know she's only teasing. Madge wraps the scarf around her neck and up to her chin.

"So this is the infamous Stockyard?" Madge finally manages to ask through chattering teeth.

"Yep," Katy-Jo Lewes tosses her multitude of dark braids over her shoulder. "Where hope came to die."

It's enormous on the inside, and Madge can picture the thousands of children of District 10, ages twelve to eighteen, trapped like livestock down on the floor and awaiting their slaughter.

"Welcome!"

The newest Mayor of District 10, an ebony skinned woman with a brilliant smile and a commanding voice greeted them as they took their seats on the hard metallic bleachers.

"Welcome to the first Independence Day Celebration of the New Republic of Panem!"

There was uproar in the crowd. Yelling and whooping and hollering. Madge found herself infected with the excitement and began jumping up and down with the group. The ancient metal underfoot creaked forebodingly.

"Let's not do that," Katy-Jo Lewes muttered as she grabbed Madge and pulled her back to her seat.

"District Ten, we have sacrificed so much. Our happiness, our freedom, our children! We have sacrificed far too much for far too long! Tonight we celebrate those things and those people we have lost along the way! Tonight and into eternity we will remember those precious children fed to an uncaring regime! We will remember them and honor them…always." She pauses, to great effect. The crowd is on its toes awaiting her next breath. Her smile lights the entire stage she stands on. "We celebrate the future! We celebrate the possibilities!"

"It's so cheesy, I might make a casserole, honest to god." Katy-Jo Lewes is laughing brightly at the display.

There are fireworks going off. Huge puffs of light and noise. They rocket into the air and explode into a thousand points of light. It shouldn't frighten Madge, really it shouldn't. But it does.

With every burst of light, every bang of the drums from the band, every screech and boom she recoils further. It's nothing like the last night in District Twelve, that's what she keeps telling herself.

_These people are happy. They aren't running in terror. These aren't bombs. These are fireworks. No one is going to die. It's a celebration. It's a celebration. It's a celebration._

Finally, she can't take it anymore and darts away; down the stairs and to the exit, Katy-Jo Lewes calling after her.

She comes to a stop just outside the tall walls, the wailing of the crowd and the horrible banging of the fireworks and the band are muffled. Doubling over, she tries to catch her breath, but begins sobbing instead.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she hisses at herself.

"Miss?" Someone, a man with a low rumbling voice, says. She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand on her back.

With a yelp she teeters away, her too big woolen hat slipping further down her face.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he tells her. He's lowered his hands in a gesture she takes to mean he's backing away now, don't freak out.

"No," she shakes her head because her voice is muffled by the scarf. "I just-was having a bit of a meltdown."

"Did-did the fireworks scare you?" he asks with a frown. A very familiar frown…

It makes her sound like a child. Pathetic. Being afraid of fireworks. She shakes her head.

"No, no, no…no, it's the band, they were just…so horrible."

This was clearly not on the list of things he was expecting her to say, because he lets out a boom of laughter.

Madge freezes. She knows that laugh. She squints up, trying to keep her own face down, and as if by some sick cosmic joke, she gets a good look at him. Gale Hawthorne. In the flesh and decked out in full military regalia.

He's more careworn looking, though the past few years have no doubt added to his already hard life. He's still handsome though. Damn that. She'd forgotten that there were to be military bigshots at the ceremony.

"Okay then," he finishes laughing. He smiles dazzlingly down at her. "It's okay to be afraid, you know. Of the fireworks…or a terrible band."

Madge nods.

"I'm from Twelve, originally, and, uh, my sister still gets nightmares sometimes. About the bombings." He rubs the back of his neck. "She and my family were at the ceremony in Two and it sent her into fits. So…I understand…if they do."

_Poor little Posy_. Madge feels a pang in her heart thinking about the little girl having the same anxiety she was experiencing.

"I'm sorry, about that." And she is. Truly and deeply.

Her hat and scarf are suddenly too warm, suffocating, and she knows she needs to get away. Madge turns quickly. "I have to get back. My friend will be worried. I kind of tore off on her."

She's only a few steps off when he calls to her, "Hey, wait."

She pulls her coat closer to her body and snuggles her face lower in her scarf, waiting for him to speak again.

"Do I know you?"

Madge bites her lip. She's been so lonely since coming to Ten. Even with her friends, their shared history was only a fraction of her life, the most traumatic fraction, but a fraction nonetheless.

Glancing up, she saw a brilliant silver willow flare then dissolve.

Madge Undersee is dead. She died in the firebombings that killed her parents and gave Posy Hawthorne nightmares. Letting her ghost talk to someone she used to know won't resurrect her.

She glances over her shoulder, just barely catching his grey eyes.

"No," she answers simply. "You don't."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Never was a story of more woe (Peeta)**

"It isn't fair!"

Gale is pacing back and forth in her garden, trampling a couple of her last cabbages.

He'd shown up, out of the blue, in the middle of the night, absolutely reeking of alcohol and raving. He'd spent months practically ignoring her and now he wanted her as his personal therapist. A small, rather vindictive part of her had half wanted to let him make such a racket that the night watchmen would catch him and take him to the tank to dry out. Then she remembered Thread, the whipping post, Vick, Posy, and Rory, and of course Gale's already poor standing in the community and she couldn't.

"She's s-s'ppos'd t'have a happily ever-ever after." He runs his hand over his face. "She's the s-s-star-cross'd l'ver!"

"Lovers," she holds up two fingers helpfully. "There are two of them. A pair. A couple."

"Shut up, Unders'see," he mutters. "I don't care about Mell'rk."

He trips over his own feet, tumbling into a tomato cage before landing on the carrots. She sighs and takes a seat next to him, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her cheek against them.

"She shouldn't have to go back. They changed the rules once." His voice quivers and he looks to her, "Why can't they do it again?"

Madge forces a small, sad smile. "Because the 'Star-crossed lovers' is a tragedy, Gale. It's meant to come to a bad end."

"It's a love story," her murmurs.

She snorts, "Not even close. Don't you remember freshmen literature?"

Gale glares, "I had bett'r things t'do freshmen year than read some s-stupid play."

Her face flushes and she feels a little cruel. Of course Gale had had better things to do than read a story by some long dead playwright. He didn't have the luxury of a comfortable home and full stomach that she did.

"Romeo and Juliet die. They kill themselves. And they got a lot of people killed along the way to their end." Now she thinks about it, it's actually a pretty fair comparison for Katniss and Peeta, considering how their Game nearly ended…

"Peeta will protect Katniss, Gale. He's going to get her home again. You'll see." She inspects the now ruined cabbage, "Peeta, he's a good guy. I know you don't want to think about it, or admit it, but he is."

With a grunt, Gale flops back and Madge flinches. Her poor cabbages.

"I know he is." He growls. "Goddamnit, I know he is."

The emptiness that follows is hollow. She wishes she had something more than empty hope to offer him. Something like the morphling she'd taken to him after his whipping. A real, physical balm for his aching soul, but there was nothing. Katniss and Peeta were all but condemned, and there was nothing she or Gale could do.

"Would he die for her?"

She almost doesn't hear him; his voice just barely reaches her over the thick blanket of quiet that had settled over them.

Madge stares up at the sky, the moon peeks out at her from behind a cloud, and she nods, "Yeah, he would. He will."

"He loves her?"

It sounds less like a question and more like a child needing affirmation. Madge nearly laughs, not because it's funny, but because it's so painfully sad.

"Yeah, he does."

Gale sits up, turns slightly green, then flops back down.

"You're drunk," she reminds him.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." He presses his fingers to his eyes.

_You're going to have one hell of a hangover come morning_. She thinks as she watches him struggle to sit up, slower this time.

Once he's back in the upright position he fixes her in his fuzzy gaze.

"Could you do it?" He asks. She frowns, unsure what he's talking about now. He seems to realize he's lost her and tries to refocus.

"Could you die for someone you loved? I mean, if you didn't know if they loved you too, or at least not-not like you loved them?"

Madge remembers running through the bitter cold, through blinding white sheets of snow and stinging wind. She remembers praying the new peacekeepers didn't catcher her until she'd made her precious delivery. She remembers a dull ache in the center of her chest, wanting to be brave, wanting to ease his pain.

She shrugs.

"Don't know," she gives him a faint smile. "Let's hope I never have to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee**

Gale is obviously out of breath when they top the last of the low slopes. His face is ruddy and there's heavy sweat trickling along his face, down his neck, disappearing into his shirt as he puts his hands to his knees, doubled over.

Madge stops and turns back as she waits for him, a grin wide on her face.

"Don't you have to be shape to be in the military?" She teases.

A scowl flickers across his face. "I _am_in shape," he grumbles. "No sane person runs ten miles in this-" he waves his hand up and out at the soupy landscape, "crap."

It's humid, muggy, swampy, however you'd want to put it, Madge would admit that. Summer had ambled in lazily and settled over the open grasslands heavily. The air was constantly thick with moisture, walking outside resulted in taking on the appearance of someone dunked in a lake. Most tried to get as much done in the early hours or late in the evenings when the swelter was more tolerable.

This morning, like most, was sticky and disgusting, but there was almost an undercurrent of chill in the air that the locals had warned Madge meant they'd probably get rain later in the afternoon.

Madge snorts, "There's a nip in the air. This is downright pleasant compared to what'll come later."

He doesn't look encouraged by this.

She watches him arch his back and try to stretch out his muscles.

He keeps coming back to District Ten to see her. She doesn't know why. Some kind of morbid curiosity or maybe he just wants some kind of tether to the past that isn't his family, she isn't sure. He doesn't have Katniss anymore. She doesn't know exactly what happened there and she isn't entirely sure she wants to know or if she is entitled to ask.

They aren't exactly friends, she isn't sure they ever really were even back before the Rebellion. He doesn't hate her, though they'd moved past that, for the most part, during the 74th Games. Madge isn't sure what they are to be honest. He's a guy from her home District and she's a girl from his and he visits her when he's in town, giving a title to whatever their relationship is proves to be an impossible task.

"Why do you run?" He asks her once he's a slightly less crimson color.

She shrugs, "Dunno."

That's the honest truth. She _loathes_it actually. She hates the burn in her muscles and the stitch in her side. She hates how long it takes. She hates the sweat and the stink.

…but she kind of loves it too.

She loves the ache when she takes a new path and the drumming of her heart. She loves the solidarity, just Madge and her thoughts. It's invigorating.

"Masochism?" She finally offers.

He frowns.

"It means I lik-"

"I _know_ what it means, Undersee," he tells her. She doesn't really think he does, but decides not to press it.

She bounces from foot to foot, then crouches down slightly and throws a little mock punch at him. It makes a small popping noise as her fist collides with his arm.

"Come on, _Hawthorne_, not gonna let a lil girl out run you are you?"

She turns and takes off, jogging down the incline. She's several yards off when she realizes he isn't trailing behind her.

"I can't carry you," she yells back at him.

Gale is standing on the high ground, arms crossed and a funny look on his face.

Madge huffs and runs back up to him.

"Where'd you learn to box?"

It isn't a question she expected and she freezes up.

"What makes you think I can box?"

He narrows his grey eyes at her, "I've been on the receiving end of one of your punches, remember?"

She lets out a nervous little chuckle. She did indeed remember punching him. He'd caught her trying to escape, trying to keep him from seeing her, and a deep, basic survival instinct had kicked in. It had been a rather lovely right straight that had collided with his nose, not breaking it, but bruising and bloodying it magnificently.

"Lucky shot?" She offers not expecting him to believe her.

He doesn't.

"Just now, you had the proper stance. I recognize it from training. They taught us the basics. Who taught you to box, Undersee?"

"Television?"

His eyes roll heavenward.

Really, it's not a secret. But she feels it's personal. A little nugget of herself that she isn't sure she wants to share with anyone.

She had punched him though, and she had taunted him into running with her…

He's watching her, waiting, and for a moment she considers running off. He hasn't earned the right to know the little highlights of her life. Her memories are all she has left of her old life.

Finally, she balls her right hand into a fist and examines her knuckles.

"My dad."

Confusion flickers across his face. "Mayor Undersee? Why?"

She plants her feet and raises her fists, assuming the proper stance she'd learned a lifetime ago.

"When I was about eight some boys caught me after school. Knocked me around pretty good. Cut my knee, tore my dress, made me cry…" She drops her fists, "Deserved it, didn't I? Mayor's kid? Not like I had any feelings to hurt."

Tears well in her eyes and she blinks them back.

She'd gone home looking a mess. Her mother had gone into hysterics ("My baby, my baby, my baby…") and upset Madge even more before her father was able to get home and settle them both down. After he'd bandaged her knees and cleaned her up he'd taken her to the basement and begun teaching her the very basics of boxing.

"Life won't be kind, Magdalene. You have to learn to take care of yourself. Fighting isn't always the answer, but if worse comes to worse, you'll have to defend yourself," he'd told her when she asked why the boys had been so mean and why she needed to learn to bob and weave.

Now it seemed, her life was mostly bobbing and weaving, ducking and dodging. He'd done a good job then.

"You didn't deserve it, Madge. You were a little kid. They shouldn't have hurt you. They were assholes." He makes a face, "Guess I was an asshole to you too, huh?"

She brushes it off, "Gale-"

"No. I was. Why you ever bothered being decent to me I'll never know."

Madge wants to laugh, tell him 'sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me'. Honestly, though, the words, the glares, all the ill will slung at her for something she had not one iota of control over had done far more damage than that group of bratty boys could have ever hoped.

"Why didn't you teach Katniss and Peeta how to box? Before the Quarter Quell?"

It's a good question. She should have seen it coming. Her mind is already forming all the ways he's going to be furious at her for this, for withholding something that could have potentially helped Katniss during the Games.

"Sometimes, in fighting, you need to know when to throw a punch and when to watch for them to make a move. Wait for an opening." She runs her hand over her sweaty hair, "I didn't think either one of them was ready to learn that. I didn't want to be the one to teach them the skill that got them killed. They needed to focus on building on what they were already good at, not try to hobble together a new ability. So I gave them something I thought was infinitely more valuable, support and what little information I had."

Gale doesn't look entirely happy with the answer, and truthfully she isn't either, but it had been her justification at seventeen and so she offered it.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he sighs.

"Alright," he nods. He takes deep breath and looks around; maybe he's planning on leaving her.

He chews on his lower lip, "I-I don't understand, not really. It made sense to you though…and, I guess, in the end, it didn't matter. It's irrelevant."

Madge can only stare, waiting for him to change his mind.

"You're-you're letting it go?" She can't keep the edge of suspicion out of her voice.

Gale nods slowly, "Yeah, guess I am."

Madge wrinkles her nose, "Really?"

"Really."

Tiny smiles creep onto both their faces. They stand there, in the early morning light on the knoll in the middle of the prairie, and take in the much more pleasant warmth of what they both felt had finally happened.

Their relationship, by whatever name they decided on, wasn't as brittle a thing as Madge had imagined. It didn't shatter with the revelation that she hadn't been as helpful as Gale felt she could have been, that she had place emotional support above tactical maneuvers.

Maybe they're friends after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**All things wicked**

"I killed her," he tells her as he stares blankly out at the ocean. "It was my bomb."

"You don't know that," she tells him as she crosses her legs and balances on the seawall. The lights from the restaurants burn dimly behind them, casting dull shadow out and to the sand below.

She'd agreed, after much persuasion, to go with Gale to the Western most tip of District Four. Madge had never seen the ocean and she didn't know when the opportunity would arise again.

They'd been more open with one another over the last few months. Slowly, almost painfully, they'd gotten to know each other again. Neither one of them were the people they were back in Twelve. Too much had happened for them to be.

It wasn't a fresh start exactly, but it was as close as they could come. They knew one another's ugly past, and somehow it made things a little bit easier.

Gale had been holding back something though. She hadn't pressed him. At first she thought maybe she wasn't entitled to know, then later, as their tentative friendship blossomed somehow she knew when he was ready he would tell her.

She really hadn't expected it over dinner.

Gale had been a little too quiet after the meeting with the committee. He'd munched on his fried octopus and listened to Madge talk about the strange clothing the locals kept trying to push on her at the market without comment. Finally she's flicked a shrimp at him, hitting him squarely between the eyes.

"Everything alright?"

The ever increasing lines in his face deepened.

"Ran into Annie Cresta after the meeting."

Madge had never met the former Victor, though she'd heard plenty.

"She had the kid. She and Finnick's kid," he ran his hands through his hair. "He's huge now."

"Well he's got to be," Madge mentally adds up the years. "Two? Nearly three?"

He nods somberly. It dawns on Madge what she's said.

Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair's little boy is nearly three years old and he's never met his father. It's been three years since he died. Three years since Annie was widowed.

"He has so much ahead of him," he say, more to himself than to her.

"That's what you fought for, what Finnick Odair fought for, so that kids like him could have real futures."

His eyes flicker and Madge realizes too late she's said something wrong.

"I fought because I was angry. I fought because they took and took but never gave back. I didn't just want to take them down, Madge, I wanted to make them suffer." He reaches across the table and takes her hand and squeezes it, "Annie, she loved Finnick so damn much and he had to do so many terrible things. He didn't have a choice about any of it. I had a choice, and I-I did so many bad things. I can't even tell you all the bad things I've done."

Then he tells her about the bomb. The trick with the parachutes. The kids. Primrose Everdeen. He doesn't ever say that it's all his fault, but the hollow tone of his voice, that empty look in his eyes, the way he seems to shrink in on himself speak louder than his words ever could.

They'd walked; Madge almost thought he was trying to outpace whatever ghosts were chasing them, the way he almost left her behind as he took long, fast strides out into the night.

His confession had culminated at the seawall.

"You don't know-"

"It was my design. Beetee and I-we-it," he picks up a sea battered rock and flings it out into the dark water. "That's why Katniss hates me."

"You would never hurt Prim, you would never hurt any child," she tries to reason with him.

He laughs, it's a cold, vicious thing that doesn't suit him.

"But I planned it. I didn't see people, I just saw the enemy. Even if I didn't order them to be used, they existed because of me. I'm always going to have to live with that."

Madge stands and walks over to him. She can see the dim reflection of tears in his eyes. They haven't hugged since the day they reunited, neither one of them is terribly demonstrative and their friendship is still so young, but Madge knows this is what he needs. Before she can think on it too hard, Madge flings her arms around Gale's narrow waist, pressing her ear to his chest.

"Maybe it was your bomb. Maybe you didn't care about hurting the people in the Capitol because they were just below pond scum in your eyes. Maybe you were wrong to design them in the first place," she looks up at him, chin in his sternum. "But you know it was wrong _now_. You stumbled, you fell and you fell hard, but you're still here, you can still get up. You have to choose to get up, though. Make amends. It's not over yet."

His arms wrap around her shoulders as he crushes her to him and buries his face in her hair.

"It'll take a lifetime," he whispers into her hair. She can feel his warm breath across her scalp. Her ear presses to his chest again and she can hear the steady beat of his heart and feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as she stares out at the dark sea.

"Then we'll take a lifetime."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Born to the purple**

They've really made a mess and Madge isn't certain it's worth it.

Madge had only suggested making ice cream as a joke. She didn't expect the kids to take her up on the offer. But Posy and Vick's eyes had bulged out of their faces and even Rory had a flicker of interest at the mention.

So she'd taken them back to her house and dug out the ice maker from under the cabinet and gathered the supplies.

Now Rory and Vick were hacking at a rather large hunk of ice with a pick, putting the shavings in a little metal bucket, and Posy was mashing some soggy blueberries with great gusto while Madge mixed the cream, sugar, and eggs.

The blueberry juice is all over the back porch, in puddles around Posy. It's also in her hair, on her lips, smeared across her cheeks like a purple blush, in splatters on her dirty tan colored shirt, and somehow she'd even managed to fling the brilliant hue on her brothers. Madge knows she's made quite a job for their poor mother.

"Okay, Posy, are the berries ready?"

Posy nods, her pig tails sway with the motion, then stands and trots the bowl over to Madge, sloshing a bit more down her front. It's a thick soup of violet, some of the skins are still visible. She holds it out importantly to Madge.

"Here, dump it in."

She carefully helps Posy tip the bowl over, emptying the contents into the metal canister, before adding the milk.

"Okay, boys, now for the really important part." She begin explaining to them how they need to alternate ice and salt in the empty space around the canister and turn the handle, spinning the churn inside and mixing the contents.

They listen, almost comically serious looks on their faces, nodding before beginning their task.

Madge supervises. She hates digging in the ice and she's reasonably certain there isn't anything they can do to ruin their treat until the freezing finishes.

They've been so absorbed in their task that they don't notice the sun sinking lower in the sky. It isn't until someone whistles, a short burst, that they even look off the porch.

Gale and one of his miner friends, she remembers him as Thom, are at the back gate watching them, bemused looks on their faces.

"What's going on here?" Gale yells up to them.

Posy waves her sticky, purple hand at him, "Hi, Gale! We're making ice cream!"

He and his friend jump the fence and saunter up to them. He's covered in coal dust, coating his olive complexion and dark hair with a deathly pallor, his eyes are as alive as ever, though, as her surveys the mess that is the Undersees' back porch.

His friend, Thom, gives Vick a tap on the back with his helmet.

"Building you some muscles there, huh kid?"

Vick grins and continues cranking the handle.

"We need to get home soon. Mom sent me to pick you all up." Gale tells them, eyeing the multitude of smears and splatters covering his sister.

"We're making ice cream, Gale, we can't just stop," Rory tells him.

"Madge needs our help," Vick adds importantly. He shoots Gale a very sour look, plainly telling him to leave if he's going to spoil their fun.

Thom snickers behind him.

Posy sticks her filthy hands on her hips and glares up at her brother and Madge knows he's done for.

It takes nearly an hour for the ice cream to fully freeze. It would have been done quicker, but Rory and Vick kept getting in arguments over just exactly whose turn it was to work the crank and how much salt needed to be on the ice.

Madge scoops out the light purple mixture into bowls for each of the kids, Thom, Gale, then finally herself.

Gale is almost hesitant to eat it. She expects him to make some kind of snide comment about how it must be nice to have the luxury of such a sweet, but then his eyes flicker to his sibling, noisily and messily eating the dessert and he remains quiet.

Thom is teasing Vick, Madge catches what sounds like her name, then the little boy has flung a spoonful of ice cream at the man, narrowly missing him and splattering the wood at Thom's feet with purple. Rory is laughing and Vick is pink in the face.

"Thanks," Gale suddenly says as he takes the seat next to her on the bench swing.

She arches an eyebrow, "For what?"

He gestures with his bowl, "Taking their minds off crap."

The last few months have been hard on them, she knows that. First Gale's whipping, their mother having trouble getting work in the aftermath, the Quarter Quell announcement, all the training Gale had been helping Katniss (and, much to his annoyance, Peeta and Mr. Abernathy) do…

It's been a rough year, and with Katniss and Peeta gone to the Capitol to what will likely be their death, it's not promising to get any better anytime soon.

"It was nothing. Besides," she lets out a dramatic sigh, "can't be getting my hands dirty doing such menial tasks, right?"

He snorts, "Don't think you quite reached your goal there, Princess."

One of his huge fingers comes up and pokes her in the cheek. With a frown, she licks one of her fingers and rubs it over the spot and it comes off purple.

She wrinkles her nose before looking down to see if Posy's handiwork has spread anywhere else when Gale's thumb is back on her cheek. It's moist, he must have licked it, and he rubs the patch of purple off gently.

"There, perfect again."

Madge isn't certain her eyes have ever been so close to jumping out of her head. She's stopped breathing, she's positive she's going to pass out. She forces herself to take a breath. He's staring at her, not through her, not glowering, but at_her._Her stomach rolls and she suddenly feels like she might vomit blueberry all over him.

_Why doesn't he say something? What do I do?_

Her mind races for a way to break the tension.

"Did you just _lick_me?"

_That ought to do it._

He snorts, "I licked my finger."

"And you put it on me. You are a heathen."

He laughs, that deep booming laugh that she loves. It's probably one of the few things in her life she's truly proud of, that she can elicit that particular noise from Gale Hawthorne.

Then Vick bellows a sort of war cry and has Rory on the ground and Gale has to break up the fight.

It's a big, sticky, purple mess they've made, but Madge decides it was worth it.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

_It's musty and dusty, but the smell of the fading pages of the past has always been something of a comfort to Madge. It reminds her that, in the past, people did more than work, suffer, and die._

**Dewey Decimal**

Madge wishes she were more useful sometimes.

She'd been trying to help her mother with baking cookies. It was one of her rare 'good' days, she wasn't confined to her bed, shades drawn and a cool rag over her eyes. Things had been going so well until they'd failed to hear the timer. The cookies had all burnt, filling the kitchen and the rest of the downstairs portion of the house with the invisible stench of burnt dough. The housekeeper, Mrs. Oberst, had a fit.

"You shouldn't be mucking about with the equipment," she'd scolded Madge. As if an eleven year old had more reason and sense than her adult mother, who'd simply dissolved into a ball of sobs and apologies.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Undersee," Mrs. Oberst had patted Madge's mother on the back. "Shush now."

Then she'd given Madge instruction on how to correct the disaster _she'd_ made and taken her mother back up to her room, giving Madge one last hateful glare before disappearing up stairs.

After cleaning the oven and scrubbing the bowls and baking sheets Madge decided to make herself scarce.

Out she went, into the soggy afternoon, to find another way to occupy her time.

At first she thought she might go visit her father, but he's been grumbling about the Capitol being unreasonable about some unstable mineshafts and she's thinks she remembers him saying something about a 'conference call', whatever that was. So that's off the table.

Mrs. Mellark is manning the front desk of the bakery, so no fresh baked cookies from there. She's already visited the dress shop the day before. Her shoes aren't in disrepair, so the cobbler isn't an option either really.

Finally she shuffles up and into the derelict building that homes District Twelve's library.

It's musty and dusty, but the smell of the fading pages of the past has always been something of a comfort to Madge. It reminds her that, in the past, people did more than work, suffer, and die.

She sneaks past the ancient librarian and into the back, snuggling down in the section housing the 820's.

Elizabeth had just told off Mr. Darcy for ruining the happiness of her most beloved sister when she hears whispering in the stacks to her left.

She frowns. Nobody ever comes in the library. Well, hardly anyone. The people of District Twelve have better things to do than to engross themselves in books. Madge had been an assistant in the school's joke of a library the year before and the only time she'd even heard of anyone venturing into the library was when a couple of older kids were caught doing 'unspeakable things' in the back most stacks by the old volunteer who monitored the room.

Curious, Madge creeps to the row behind where the voices are coming from and peers carefully between the upper and lower lines of books.

It's a man, tall and cheerful looking, with a scruffy looking beard and dark hair. With him is a boy, clearly his son judging by his look, similar dark hair and olive skin, he's a couple of years older than Madge, maybe. Her stomach does an odd little flip. They're having a whispered conversation, scouring the shelves for something.

The boy grabs a book from the shelf and gives it an annoyed glare.

"This is girly crap."

"Watch your mouth, Gale," his father tells him.

"Well it is," the boy, Gale, grumbles. "This doesn't have anything to do with plants."

_Well of course not._ Madge thinks. _You're in the poetry section._

They've probably never been to the library before, she thinks. They're likely from the Seam, going off their looks, and so are the least likely people to be perusing the shelves of the library.

She watches them struggle for a minute, pulling books down, examining them, then sticking them back on the shelf in disappointment. Finally she takes pity.

Like a mouse, she pads softly to the end of the row and peeks down at them from around the corner.

"You're in the wrong section," she almost whispers.

She doesn't think they heard her at first, then the man looks around. He tilts his head and looks, searching for the source of the sound. When he spots her, her blue eyes and the topmost part of her blonde head just barely visible from his position, he smiles.

"Hello there," he says gently. "What was that?"

Her courage is leaving her, but she takes a deep breath and says it again.

"You-You're in the wrong section." She points over to the other side of the building, "You want section 630, agriculture."

The man nods.

Before she realizes what she's doing, she's stepped out from the shelf and held out her hand.

"I can show you. If you have the name."

What possessed her, she'll never know, but the man's smile widens and he turns to his son.

"Give her the paper, Gale."

Gale huffs, but hands her a slip of paper. The handwriting is atrocious. Madge examines the name before turning on her toes and heading to the catalog. She jumps up on the little step stool and begins picking through the cards until she finds the one she's looking for, snatching it up, and walking with Gale and Gale's father trailing behind her.

The book is just out of her reach and she stands on her tippy toes to try and reach it. Then a warm body brushes against her back and a ragged looking shirtsleeve stretches over her head and plucks it from above her.

Gale's stormy gray eyes flicker over the cover as he turns his long sought after book in his hands.

"So…we just take it?"

Madge frowns.

_Well of course, they've never been here before._ She reminds herself.

"No, well, you take it to the front and give it to Ms. Poteau and she'll check it out to you. Then you'll have two weeks to return it. If you don't bring it back on time they charge you a fee for each day it's late," she explains.

"Huh," Gale grunts.

She scampers back to her table and grabs her book, then walks with them to the front, to the desk where the old woman sits to check them out.

Ms. Poteau gives Gale and Gale's father a once over, critically eyeing their shabby clothes and the coal dust forever embedded in their nail beds, but makes no comment. She asks for their name and address and fills out a card for them before stamping the book with a return date and handing it back to them. Madge's check out goes much quicker.

When they step outside Mr. Hawthorne (she remembers hearing him tell old Ms. Poteau) frowns at her. His cheery eyes flicker from the top of her head to her shiny patent leather shoes and he frowns.

"You were here by yourself?"

She goes most places by herself, but she doesn't tell him that. She nods.

She's a rather short eleven, her dad assures her she'll have a growth spurt anytime, and she knows he thinks she's too young to be wandering the District alone. Which she might be, she's so used to her solitary life she isn't sure what is or isn't normal for a girl her age.

"Well," he nods back at her, "Gale and I will walk you home then. Least we can do for all your trouble."

Madge doesn't want them to walk her home. Home is the Mayoral 'Manor'. If they take her there they'll know she's just the Mayor's brat kid and it's been so nice having people speak to her.

"It was no trouble. I can get home on my own. I'm used to it."

Gale tugs at his dad's coat, "Let's go, dad."

Mr. Hawthorne gives his son a hard look, "Gale, you never let a lady walk home alone. Especially a very small lady."

Madge fixes her gaze on her shoes and mumbles, "I'm not a lady. I'm a little girl, sir."

He chuckles, it's warm and deep and Madge likes the way it tickles her ears.

"I know a lady when I see one." His eyes twinkle at her. "Besides, if I ever have a little girl I hope that if she's ever out on her own someone will take the time to make sure she makes it home safely."

Gale rolls his eyes and mutters something about never getting a sister.

She takes a deep breath, "I-I liveatthemayorhouse."

Mr. Hawthorne and Gale stare at her disbelieving for a moment and she looks back down at her shoes and prepares herself to swallow down bitter disappointment.

She expects them to take off, leave her standing under the cold, grey December sky at the topmost steps of the library, what she doesn't expect is for Mr. Hawthorne to pat her on the shoulder. Her eyes, wide and uncertain, look up and catch his. He's smiling.

"Well, then it'll be easy to find then, huh?"

He offers her his now gloved hand and she hesitantly takes it.

When the mine collapses over a month later and Madge sees the somber face of Gale Hawthorne along with his two younger brothers and his very pregnant mother, she remembers Mr. Hawthorne and his warm laugh and his willingness to walk a little girl home. She stands there, hands limply at her sides, her face in a careful, empty mask, and watches Gale accept the medal for his father's sacrifice and she wishes once more, that she were just a little more useful.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Old, New, Borrowed, Blue **

**Old**

Madge wished her mother were with her in times like these. Not that she'd have been much help, probably would have lost interest and dozed off within minutes, but still…mothers are supposed to help their daughters with wedding details.

She's picking through an ancient jewelry box looking for suitable earrings for the ceremony. It's less than a week away and she still hasn't matched any to the simple silver chain and pendant Gale had given her as an engagement gift earlier in the year. Their ancient neighbor, a stately woman who'd apparently had more husbands than she had memory for, had lent her the box of her accessories.

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, my dear! Surely even in that backward District you came from they knew the tradition? It's quite important."

They really hadn't, but Madge would eat her shoes before she let her know that.

So she'd graciously accepted the box and agreed to 'borrow' some earrings.

Unfortunately, each one was as ghastly as the next.

_No wonder her earlobes are so saggy_. Madge thought as she held up a particularly hideous pair made of craggy gold and dotted with rubies that must have weight a pound at least.

She sighed and dropped it back in the box with a clank.

The downstairs door rattles and opens then Madge hears voices in the kitchen. Before she has a chance to greet her guests there's pounding up the stairs and the bedroom door swings open and Posy bounds in. Her shirt is half untucked from her skirt and one of her socks has fallen down around her ankle.

"Madge!" She shouts, "Guess what happened at school?"

She flounces over and flops onto the bed.

"Marcia, remember her? I told you about her the other day, the girl they caught in the bathroom? Well, she was behind-"

"Posy!" Hazelle appears in the doorframe, hand on her hips and giving her youngest child an exasperated look. "What have I told you about gossiping?"

Posy wrinkles her nose as she looks back to Madge, "It's not gossip if it's _true,_ mother."

Hazelle's eyes narrow and her eyebrows shoot skyward.

Their having some kind of power struggle, have been for weeks, over what is and is not appropriate to talk about. It's clearly going very well.

Apparently deciding to let the conversation die for the moment being, Hazelle's face rearranges into a much more pleasant expression as she turns her look to Madge.

"How goes the earring search?"

Madge groans and closes her eyes. Hazelle gives her a sympathetic smile before crossing the room to examine the box of atrocities herself.

"This was on your door," she hands Madge a plain white envelope before picking up the jewelry and carrying it to the bed for she and Posy to sort through.

Madge gives the envelope a look over: white and battered looking, heavier than she would have expected for being so thin, no return address is posted.

She frowns at it before tearing off the end and pulling the note from inside. Her stomach drops to her knees when she recognizes the handwriting.

_Madge,_

_We heard about the wedding and thought you might like this back. It was yours to begin with._

_Congratulations and Love,_

_Peeta and Katniss_

It's Peeta's tidy scroll in pencil. There's a smear where he'd erased the farewell message, perhaps several times, and rewritten it. Maybe he and Katniss didn't know if the event warranted a congratulation, or maybe they hadn't known if they wanted to send their love. She'll probably never know.

She had seen them only one time since her return to the land of the living, at Mr. Abernathy's funeral. He'd finally put himself out of his misery, drank himself into a stupor and never woken up. At the service the two Victors had expressions crossing between relief, anger, and disbelief. Madge had understood at the time that, despite his abrasive personality and his poor manners, Mr. Abernathy had been a stabilizing force for them, and he'd abandoned them. Madge had also understood, though, the guilt of survival. She'd watched her mother's depression crush her, the guilt of outliving her twin kill her soul long before the Capitol took her life. That had been almost two years prior.

How they'd learned of she and Gale's engagement was a mystery. They hadn't even spoken to him at the funeral.

She empties the heavy content from the envelope. It slides, slowly scraping down the crease, before plopping into her lap.

Her pin. The mockingjay pin. The object that had given Katniss her title. The pin that had, in some small way, lead them all to where they were at this very moment.

Madge imagines Katniss must hate that pin. She wonders where it had been all this time. Maybe hidden under the stationary Peeta had written the note on, in the back of some dresser in a little used room in their lonely house in District Twelve's Victor's Village.

It was battered and tarnished, dinged, the clasp on the back appeared broken.

Somehow, that's fitting.

"What's that?" Posy asks, looking past a pair of gaudy studs her mother is holding out to her and to Madge's hand, where her pin rests.

"My something old."

**New**

The dress is green. Not bright or dark, but a pale, like the earliest bud of spring that hasn't seen light but desperately wants to. She loves it instantly.

Madge runs her hand over it, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out. It was shipped all the way from District Ten. It had been Birdy's, Madge's unexpected friend from during the 74th Games, before her death and Katy-Jo Lewes had begged her to at least look at it.

"Why green?" Posy asks. She doesn't look terribly impressed with the gift.

"Green is lucky. In District Ten they always wore green to the Reaping for luck, at least in the early years of the Games," she explains. "By the end, green was their color of mourning."

Posy looks over at her, face pulled back in confusion, "Why would she want you to wear a funeral dress?"

Madge gives her a small smile, "The Capitol took so much. They even took a color, something so simple, and destroyed its positive meaning. A lot of the Districts are trying to reclaim the things that were destroyed that way."

They were slowly taking back their history, their cultures, their traditions.

She holds the dress to her chest and looks to Posy.

The girl gives it small smile, "It's a pretty dress, I guess." Her eyes light up, "I still get to wear pink, though, right?"

**Borrowed, Blue**

Hazelle's weathered hands pin Madge's hair, twisting it up intricately from the nape of her neck and securing it with a mass of bobby pins. Once her hand moves from its place of support the delicate twirl collapses. For the tenth time.

"I just don't know what we're going to do," she sighs as she frowns at Madge's blonde waves. "Your hair is just too fine. It won't hold."

Madge shrugs. She had warned her.

Her fingers, long and tough, comb through Madge's limp hair, "I guess this is why you always do a ponytail?"

Madge nods. Her mother and Mrs. Oberst had always lamented her hair. It was lifeless and would only hold a curl if they used a special hot iron from the Capitol and a very fresh smelling gel, and even then a good gust of air could undo all that hard work. Up-dos were simply an exercise in futility.

The thought of her mother and her cranky old housekeeper made Madge's eyes burn. Her father's face, smiling at her, appears alongside them. Tears began leaking out the sides despite her rapid blinking.

"Madge?"

Hazelle is watching her with a thoughtful expression, there's a small crease between her eyes and her mouth is downturned.

Madge shakes her head. It's stupid.

"What's wrong?"

Her throat is thick and she feels like her voice is coming out in messy globs.

"I just," she forces down a shudder, "I-my mother. My dad. My awful housekeeper." A watery laugh escapes her, "I just-I wish they were here."

A coarse sob finally fights out of her and Hazelle pulls her into a hug.

"Shhhh," she rubs her back. "It's okay."

All of Posy's hard work, her mascara, is surely smeared down her face and she prays she isn't ruining Hazelle's dress as well.

Once her fit is subsiding, Madge pulls back, sniffling and blubbering, and starts to apologize to her future mother-in-law.

"Don't," she gives Madge the stern look she's seen the woman give all four of her own children so many times.

It's just still so embarrassing.

"It's been years," Madge still begins. "I shouldn't-"

"Miss them? Madge, you'll always miss them. Every time something wonderful happens, this, your first child, first _grandchild_," she gives Madge a bright smile, "every single time something wonderful happens you'll miss them. You'll want them there. I wish Gale's father were here. I wish Posy had known him at all. A month, a year, ten years, it doesn't matter, there's no time limit on missing someone. We can't mire down in that though. You move forward and hope that they're with us, even in the smallest way."

She puts her finger on the knot on the sash at Madge's waist, where they'd secured her battered mockingjay pin, hidden from view.

"Your family is with you," she pulls Madge into another hug. "You aren't alone."

It's suddenly very real to Madge that she's about to be married. For so long, through all the planning and fretting, it had been some distant event that would never actually occur. She isn't alone. She isn't just getting Gale, but Hazelle, Posy, Vick, and Rory. She isn't just borrowing them. They're going to be her family.

When she finally calms, Madge stands and gives Hazelle a watery smile before going to the bag Posy had brought with her.

She digs through several sets of bras and a pair of underwear her mother would kill her for having before finding a simple elastic band and a blue length of ribbon. She pulls her hair up swiftly, secures it as she always did, then ties the ribbon in a bow.

Hazelle beams at her.

"I always did like it that way best."

####################################################################################################

If Gale had been nervous during the ceremony he hadn't let it show. He had that slight smile, like he didn't want anyone to actually see him happy, on his lips and his eyes never strayed from Madge.

Madge had grown up on a stage, always standing behind her father, where her mother couldn't be. Reciting her vows, though, butterflies the size of hovercrafts had raced in her stomach.

Then it was over, quick as it started and Gale was kissing her.

Vick wolf whistled and Rory told them to 'get a room already' before the kiss even ended.

Both were beaming as the turned out to the small group gathered around them.

Katy-Jo Lewes and several familiar wranglers gave her bright smiles and held up, somewhat discreetly, a piece of bread each. Madge vaguely remembered telling her friend over the phone that she and Gale planned on having a proper toasting like they did in District Twelve after the ceremony.

"A whating?" Katy-Jo Lewes had asked through sips of coffee.

"A Toasting," she decided to give her the simplest explanation. "After the ceremony we'd toast bread for the newlyweds."

"Oh, simple enough."

Madge suddenly regrets that conversation as the group begins shouting out congratulations and well wishes at them while flinging the bread at the couple.

"What is wrong with your friends, Madge?" Gale asks her as a burly looking wrangler launches the heel of loaf at them and wishing the best of luck in all their endeavors.

Madge begins laughing.

"Gale," she tosses her head back in a snort. "Gale, they're _toasting us_."

He stares at her. She thinks he's probably wondering if he's just married a mad woman when it finally dawns on him.

"They're _toasting us_."

Their old neighbor was right, traditions were important, but as Madge watched Gale and his best men, his brothers, _her brothers_ now, pick up the discarded pieces of bread and begin 'toasting' the guest at her wedding, she also realized traditions could change. They needed to sometimes.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**The beginning of a beautiful friendship**

Of all the coffee shops in all of the Districts in all of Panem, he walks into hers.

Madge had heard the tinkling of the little bell over the door, announcing a customer's arrival, and had turned to greet them, when she found herself seeing the now unmistakable figure of Gale Hawthorne. She'd promptly ducked behind the nearest row of the finest coffee, imported all the way from District Nine.

_Of all the shit luck._

She'd known he was in the area, it had been only two days since she'd encountered him at the Independence Day celebration, but she had never, not in a million years, would have expected him to show up in her place of employment.

He was examining a bag of dark roast, his grey eyes flickering over the words on the bag, when he looked around. Madge kept her head down, trying to appear terribly interested in rearranging the display for a set of handcrafted mugs they'd just gotten in.

"Excuse me? Miss?"

His deep voice jolts her from her busy work. She grimaces and keeps her back to him.

"Hmm?"

"Can you tell me what the difference is between these two? They both say 'dark roast' but one says 'French' and one says 'Italian'…what does that even mean?"

To be honest, Madge isn't quite certain herself. She's sure the names meant something at some point in the past, but their meanings have been lost to the point she thinks perhaps the monikers are only artifacts of a bygone era. She's almost ninety percent certain they're only labeled with the names now for pricing differences.

"Oh, uh, no difference, really." She studiously straightens another mug.

"Then why name them that way?"

Madge shrugs. She can feel him puzzling over the beans behind her.

"But…" He sighs. "You know, in most Districts it's considered rude to not even _look_ at a customer."

"Maybe I don't work here," she tells him flatly. Maybe out and out rudeness will get him to leave.

"You're fixing a display."

_Did not think that through…_

"Well then I'm _clearly_ busy. Go get someone else to help you." She tells him with faux pleasantness.

His feet shuffle, then she hears him mutter something about 'wheat fed prairie bastards', before he heads to the counter where Katy-Jo Lewes is flirting with very hairy wrangler.

Madge finally takes a breath, glad to have escaped her past once more. She watches Gale discuss the nonexistent differences with Katy-Jo Lewes before purchasing the 'French Roast' and heading for the door.

Before he reaches it, the door bursts open and a gaggle of schoolchildren burst in. They always turned up at three fifty-nine every afternoon for after school treats. Normally, Madge welcomed their energy, but today they were the harbingers of her doom.

"Madgie!" Rowdy, a brown haired, brown eyed, mess of an eight year old boy shouted at her. "Did you make caramel cupcakes for me today?"

Madge feels the room stop as Gale's eyes follow Rowdy's line of vision to her. Everything, every giggle and snort, every bag swung, every chair screeched across the ground seems sluggish and distant. The color drains from her face when Gale's gaze finally reaches her.

_Exit, pursued by a former acquaintance._

Madge turns to bolt to the back of the shop, but one of the little girls trips her up and she ends up splayed out on the floor between the tea infusers and the ice tea spoons. She scrambles and tries to continue her escape only to be hauled up by a pair of large hands.

"Oh, thank you," she automatically responds. Then she remembers why she tripped, why she was making an escape, and, much to her annoyance, that reason had a firm grip on her upper arm.

"Madge?"

His eyes are wide. He's seeing a ghost. Flesh and blood and bruised knees. He's seeing someone he thought was dead.

"Madg-"

She tries to pull her arm away, she isn't giving up her new existence without a fight, but his grip is too strong and he clamps down.

"Let. Me. Go!" She struggles against him.

"Stop that!" He yells, his old temper flaring up.

He pulls her back and her instincts kick in. Before she knows what she's doing she's reared back and her fist is making contact with his face. Blood erupts from his nose and he curls back, cupping his nose.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!" She's never hit anyone in her entire life. She's never felt the need to, talking was always a much better solution.

"I am so, so, sososososososososososo sorry!" She whimpers as she looks frantically around for something to put on his nose.

"Don't apologize!" A girl with wild strawberry hair yells, "He deserved it! He didn't listen! You said let me go and he didn't!"

"Yeah!" The other children chorus.

"Hit him again!" She squeals.

"Yeah!"

"Hit him harder!" Another boy calls out.

"Yeah!

"Break his legs!" An elderly lady bellows from by the window.

"Yes!"

Madge looks at them wide eyed, "What is wrong with all of you? Stop that. Leave us alone."

They look disappointed that they aren't going to get more of a show but finally leave Madge to her work of helping Gale with his now gushing nose.

She snatches up a mug and sticks it to his face to catch the blood.

Katy-Jo Lewes reappears from the back, looking confused. "What in the hell is going on up here?"

"Madgie just decked a guy!" Rowdy explains.

Her eyes widen as she spots Madge, now covered in Gale's blood and holding the mug to his face.

"Ew!" She makes a disgusted face. "I hope you know that's coming out of your paycheck." She looks out at the children, "And I want all y'all to know that's how we're gonna be dealing with unruly customers from now on. I'll sic Madgie on your lil asses."

Madge takes him to the back of the shop and gathers up rags and an ice pack. She dabs the now drying blood off his upper lip and cheek, gently rubbing the side of his nose.

"Hell of a right hook you got there, Undersee."

She makes a pained face. It was a right straight, but she doesn't correct him. "Yeah, sorry."

He reaches up and stills her hands. He's watching her like she'll dissipate at any moment, which if she had her wish, she would.

"How are you here?"

She shrugs, "Horseback."

He gives her a sharp look, "That's not what I mean. How are you alive? We found your body. Your house was destroyed. I saw it."

"You found _a_ body. My mom was the only one home, and I think the staff figured the Mayor's house would be spared, that's who the others were. Dad was electrocuted when he dismantled the override at the main electrical hub, so that the fence would be un-electrified."

He gingerly touches his nose, "And you?"

Madge wrinkles her nose. "I was rescued by riders from District Ten. They arrived just before the bombing started, tried to help me warn those in Town to get out of their cellars. Not that it did us any good."

Everyone in Town was killed, despite her best efforts.

"Why are you hiding?"

She gives him a sharp look, "I'm not."

"What do you call this?" He gestures to the room, "What do you call ignoring me? Not letting me get a good look at you? Nearly trampling a kid to get away from me?"

"Oh, come on, Gale, I can hardly be the first girl to go to such desperate measures to escape you."

She meant it as a joke, but judging by his flinch she may have went just a tad too far.

"You let everyone think you were dead."

"I didn't _let_them do anything. I just didn't correct them. I'm not exactly hiding, despite what you may think. My names the same, I don't look any different, I work in the service industry-"

"Why wouldn't you want to go back with everyone?" He shouts.

"With who?" She snaps. "My many friends and admirers? I don't know if you received a head injury during the war, _General_, but I wasn't the most popular girl in the District. I pretty much just had my parents and they're de-" she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "They're dead. There is no one that needs me. There's no reason for me to go back."

"My brothers and sister-"

"-are little kids. They've probably already forgotten about me. I wasn't some huge part of their life. Just some girl who brought them food and bad news."

He's on his feet, looming over her, and she thinks maybe she should grab the mug to defend herself with, when he pulls her into a hug.

She would have been less surprised if he had turned into a canary.

Gale's hand is in her hair, fingers tangling in it tightly, almost painfully, and he's pressing her into his chest as if she's the only thing holding him to the earth.

"So many people died, Madge," he murmurs into her hair.

He doesn't say it, but Madge can feel it in his heartbeat thrumming against her chest; in this crazy, messed up world, where so much is gone, so many are dead, _she's alive._

Three years and she's never really appreciated that fact, that she's alive. She shouldn't be. She should be among the ash covering what's left of District Twelve, with her parents. For three long years she's existed as a shade of herself, because admitting something as wonderful as the fact that _she's alive_ would've just opened her up to more of the misery that the living endure.

Living in the twilight between alive and dead is no longer an option now that Gale has found her.

Slowly, timidly, she wraps her arms around his waist.

"I know, Gale," she gives him a gentle squeeze. "I'm here."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Kiss me and smile for me**

Of all the stupid, impulsive things to do…

Madge growled in frustration and closed her eyes.

Things had been going so well, so very well, and he had to go and kiss her.

Gale had taken her to the opening for the newest hovercraft port. It was a huge leap for Panem, to have mass transit between the District other than the rail system. The infant government was eager to have more inter District travel and communication, and though the trains were fast and well maintained, people just weren't traveling between the Districts as much as was hoped. Trains still held the dubious honor of having taken the Tributes to the Games. That alone kept many from using them, no matter how nice they were.

So the hovercrafts were redesigned as luxury transport. Windows and large, squishy seats had been outfitted to make them more appealing, as well as adding wait staff.

Gale had been part of the committee for Inter-District cooperation and had helped with the development of the ports, their placement, and the logistics of major air travel.

"They did it before," he'd told her during one of their frequent lunches. "There were huge hubs and people flew all across the country, across the world even. We aren't anywhere near as big now. Should be easy."

That had been at the beginning of the project, almost two years ago. Madge isn't sure if that was too quick or laughably slow.

He'd attended openings in almost every District, he'd gotten the flu before the opening in Nine and wouldn't step foot in District Twelve, for obvious reasons.

When it was announced that Ten would be opening its first of many he'd called her on the battered rotary phone she and Katy-Jo Lewes shared and asked her to attend the opening with him. She was hesitant, it was undoubtedly a ploy to get her to leave Ten, go visit his family in Two, something she's avoided for the past six years, since she and Gale reunited.

Hazel, Rory, Vick, and Posy had all ventured to her tiny apartment in the southern part of District Ten, but _she'd_ never gone to visit _them_. Doing so felt like crossing some invisible line, taking their friendship to another place that she wasn't sure she was ready, or even wanted, to go to.

They were close, but not _too_ close.

They knew every part of the other's life, every dirty secret and painful event. Madge's friends, the people who'd taken care of her since her arrival so long ago, smirked knowingly.

"Boy's smitten," Jefferson, the wiry haired wrangler that had rescued her the night of Twelve's bombing had told her one day.

Madge only guffawed.

Gale was no more smitten with her than a tree was with the earth. She grounded him. It was as simple as that.

Besides, Gale loved Katniss. He'd loved her since he was a teenager. That was an invariable fact.

So she tried to think nothing of it and accepted the invitation. It would at least be a more interesting, and less disgusting, way to spend her Saturday than skinning frogs with the kids at the Community Home.

"That's the watch tower where people will sit and coordinate landings and take offs, well, when there's more than one or two going on," Gale had pointed to a boxy looking structure with windows enclosing the top.

They were standing on the landing strip, an expanse of black material with florescent borders painted on and reflectors embedded in it, when it happened.

Madge was squinting up at the building in the distance, a light breeze rustling her skirt and hair, and when she turned to smile at him and congratulate him on a job well done he dipped down and kissed her.

It had stunned her momentarily. She'd stood there, eyes open, and what she's certain was a dumbfounded expression on her face, while Gale's chapped lips pressed against hers. It wasn't unpleasant, the opposite really, but she'd pulled back.

"What-uh…what are you doing?"

His brow wrinkled, "Kissing you."

"Oh," she frowned. "Thanks?"

He looked perplexed, "You're…welcome?"

Madge's stomach churns and she takes a step back. "Gale…"

His mouth is gaping just a little and she knows that she's about to do something profoundly stupid.

"Gale…"

Hot tears start gushing out of her eyes and dripping off her chin. She turns to make a run for it, hide in the bathroom maybe, but Gale catches her elbow.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" He asks. She thinks he's joking because he has this sweet little half smile on his face even though he's obviously truly worried about her.

"You can't kiss me, Gale!" She blubbers.

"Why not?"

"Because!" She's edging toward hysteria now. "Because you don't love me! You don't-you can't just kiss people you don't love! I mean, you can, but-but I'm not one of those people! I don't want people who don't love me kissing me!"

"Who says I don't love you!" He finally growls back.

She freezes and studies him through her puffy eyes. Her breath shudders in her chest.

"Because you love Katniss," she almost whispers. "You've always loved Katniss."

There isn't a word in Madge's vocabulary to describe the look on Gale's face. Like he's been kicked in the gut and told a beloved pet had died all at once. Then suddenly it's angry.

"I don't love Katniss. Not like that anyway."

"I saw you with her, Gale. I watched you with her for years. I know what I saw."

"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. She hates me. She's with Peeta Mellark. She's never going to be the girl she was. Pick one, she and I are over."

Madge gives him a hard look, "And if nothing had changed? If she weren't with Peeta, if she didn't hate you, if Prim's name had never been called, you'd be wi-"

"What does any of that matter? Things aren't different! This is reality. This, right here, Madge, is our reality." He jabs a finger out at the airfield then at the ground at their feet. He deflates a little, "I love you."

It feels like she's waited to hear those words from him since she was seventeen. But a nasty voice in the back of her head whispers to her that it's a lie.

"You can't."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because you loved her…" She presses her fingers to her eyes, "and we are so different."

Her eyes still closed she continues.

"The two of you are fire and steel and _she_ inspired a rebellion. I'm none of that. I would have died in the arena. I just barely survived the bombings. I could never do any of the things she did. You can't love me if you loved her, it just isn't possible."

It _can't be._

Gale is, has always been, fire and passion. It had scared Madge, truth be told, for the longest time. She remembered when Birdy had arrived in Twelve to prepare them for the 'friends and family interviews' when Katniss and Peeta had made it to the final eight, the former Victor had warned him back then about it.

"You've got a lot of fire, Dorothy. Best watch it though, or you'll burn to ash. Then what will you be? Nothing but a lost little boy with no fire, no fight, and no friend."

It had nearly been right. Gale still had plenty of fight, though he'd redirected it in the years since the Rebellion. His family was still as much a part of his life as it had ever been, but he'd lost Katniss. And his fire had definitely dulled. It wasn't the dangerous inferno that had created the bombs that drove the wedge between he and Katniss, but a low burning ember, a comforting heat on a very cold morning.

Madge knows she's none of that. She's ice and calm. Picking up on things and finding weak points and failings. She was part of the background, living scenery at best, that served a purpose occasionally. Her part was in the schemes, not the action.

After another violent breath she opens her eyes.

Gale is staring at the ground, working something over in his mind.

"You don't get to tell me how I feel," he tells her slowly. "Maybe it's 'cause you're nothing like her that I love you. Maybe she was never what I needed in the first place. Fires will burn themselves out if there isn't someone to tend them, Madge."

"I'm always going to feel like a consolation prize…"

Because she would be. He didn't win the heart of the 'Girl on Fire', the 'Mockingjay', so he'd settle for Madge, less than nobody without her father's title. She hated gutting and processing meat, she hated hunting and camping, she was a complete disaster without running water…she was every prissy poor opinion Gale had ever held about her and more.

"You're no prize, Madge."

She gives him a flat look, "Wow, you're a real charmer, Gale."

"That," he runs his fingers through his hair and tugs at it roughly, "that isn't what I meant."

She was less than a second choice, she was self-flagellation.

"I'm just a second choice. You don-"

"Stop putting words in my mouth," he growls again.

Madge shakes her head, she can feel the careful curls she'd place in her hair coming undone in the humidity. Tears are still trickling out the corners of her eyes.

"I need-I have to go."

She doesn't give him a chance to catch her this time, wind quick as she runs, across the airfield and away from him.

#####################################################################################################

She's curled up in her bed, wrapped in half a dozen quilts, her skin blotching from constant crying.

It's been two days since she ran off on Gale. Two painfully long days.

The most activity she's had is hopping to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, then back to her bed.

She's contemplating worming to the living area, there isn't a television in her room and one of the programs her old housekeeper use to watch is about to come on. It isn't very good. The acting is atrocious and the storylines have more loose ends than half the sweaters in her closet, but it's a guilty pleasure, a kind of old comfort from her past.

After she's rolled to her side she hears a thudding noise. Someone's coming up the stairs to the apartment. She figures it's just Katy-Jo Lewes coming up from the coffee shop for lunch and ignores it until her door creaks open and she's suddenly flung from the bed, sprawling out on the floor in a heap.

"Alright, I've had enough of this. Get up, take a shower, put on some pants, and brush your damn teeth! We are going out," Katy-Jo Lewes yells at her, punctuating each point with a jab of her highly lacquered nails.

"But-" Madge begins to protest, only to be cut off by a threatening snarl.

Katy-Jo Lewes takes her to a restaurant run by one of her fellow 'daughters' from before the Rebellion. It's a comfy place with squishy booths, a patio, and a band.

Rebecca, the 'daughter', a honey blonde woman with a smattering of light freckles across her nose, brought them the special of the day, goulash. She gives Madge a sympathetic smile before she walks off.

"Spill it," Katy-Jo Lewes tells her. "I want the whole story."

And because she can't think of a reason not to, Madge does.

She tells her again about the kiss and the fight. About Katniss, and how she'll never be Katniss, and Gale is making a mistake-

"You are an idiot." She's finally cut off from her hour long rant by a highly unimpressed looking Katy-Jo Lewes.

"He told you he loved you!"

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Madge picks at a noodle. "Besides, I'm always going to live in Katniss' shadow. I'm never going to live up to that. I'll always just be his second choice."

Katy-Jo Lewes' lips press together and she lets out a long sigh.

"Madgie, just 'cause you're not someone's first choice, don't make you their second."

Madge rolls her eyes, "That's the definition."

"Bullshit."

They stare each other down. Wide golden eyes challenging pale blue. Daring Madge to prove her wrong.

"You are a different creature than you were back in that coal pit of a District. Different from the girl I met when you came here. You're even different since you met tall, dark, and cranky. You'll be different in a few years, trust me, I can attest to it." She smiles warmly, "Sweetie, maybe he loved her, sounds like he did…but he loves you too. There are different kinds of love. Some grow and some fade and some die. The dead ones weren't any less real, but their dead, and sometimes there's a reason for that. That make sense?"

Madge rolls it around in her mind, twisting it and pulling on it, testing it for soft spots.

She can't, there's a part of her that doesn't want to.

It takes a minute, but she realizes her face hurts. She's been smiling down at her meal. It slips off in an instant.

"I messed up."

"Yeah you did."

She looks up frantically at Katy-Jo Lewes, "What am I going to do? He's leaving today! He's going back to Two and he's never going to speak to me again! Oh, god, I've messed up so badly."

Katy-Jo Lewes comes to the other side of the booth and Madge thinks she's going to comfort her, hug her. Instead she smacks her on the back of the head with her open palm.

"Stupid girl."

Madge turns to tell her off only to be met with a piece of paper being held in front of her face. Katy-Jo Lewes shakes it in front of her.

"Well, take it," she tells her.

"What is it?"

"You have eyes. You can read."

Madge takes the papers and examines them. Tickets to District Two on the flight that afternoon. Gale's flight.

"How-wh-how did you know I'd change my mind?" She asks in awe.

"Didn't," Katy-Jo Lewes flips her braids over her shoulder. "If you didn't want them I was going to be relocating. That boy of yours is a fine piece."

Madge laughs and jumps up, pulling her friend into an awkward hug. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Still gotta get you there."

It's twenty till noon, and the flight is scheduled to leave at fifteen after. Panic jolt through Madge. She'll never make it from where she is now.

"Don't look like that. I thought this through."

#####################################################################################################

Jefferson had been waiting outside the restaurant to take her by horseback to the airfield.

"I brought you to this District, only seems right I see you off," he tells her a little misty eyed.

"Good lord, she'll be back eventually," Katy-Jo Lewes mutters.

She'd waved goodbye to Katy-Jo Lewes and a blubbering Rebecca before the horse had taken off at a breakneck speed. She's windswept and watery eyed when they make it to the airfield.

"Good luck, honey." Jefferson tells her as he hugs her.

Madge gives him a brave smile and heads into the small building where she's to wait to board the hovercraft.

Looking around, she searches for Gale. She's nearly given up, it would be her luck for him to have taken an earlier flight, when she spots him.

He's sitting with his head down, elbows to knees, not really paying attention, dressed in his uniform. Madge bites her lip and gathers whatever courage she has. It's now or never.

"Gale?"

His head snaps up at the sound of her voice. He doesn't say anything, just stares at her, like he isn't sure she's there.

Her voice fails her and she just moves her mouth, miming the words she wishes she could say. Finally she collapses into the seat next to him. It might be easier if she isn't looking at him.

"I'm so sorry, Gale. I was just…scared." Tears begin to build up again and she forces them down, now isn't the time. "Nobody's ever chosen me, Gale. Not at school, Katniss just got stuck with me, not at home, my dad always picked my mother or the District…I've always been an afterthought. Easily ignored. When the story of the Rebellion is told I won't even warrant a footnote. I just…"

She isn't sure what she 'just' wanted. Not to be a replacement? To not exist only to be forgotten?

Gale reaches over and, gently, pulls her to him, kisses the top of her head.

"I'm choosing you, Madge."

He doesn't have to. He could tell her to go to hell and she would feel she deserves it for her erratic behavior. But he's still choosing her.

"Thank you," she gives him a watery smile.

"You're welcome," he chuckles. "Guess I need to go change my flight…"

Madge shakes her head, "I have a ticket."

She shows him the papers and he gives her a once over, "You haven't got any luggage."

_Knew there was something I forgot._

She gives him a sheepish grin, "Guess we can resch-"

"No," he shakes his head with a bright grin. "I'm not giving you more time to change your mind if I don't have to. My mother is going to come unglued. She's wanted to get you up there for ages. And the kids…"

He's off on a tangent, telling her all the things he's going to show her in Two, things he's been telling her about for years. She hasn't seen him this excited in ages.

He's probably always going to be a little too impulsive and she's probably always going to be a little too cautious, but maybe that's for the best. She'll keep him from burning out and he'll keep her from freezing in place. They complement each other.

She smiles at him, takes his hand, and leads him to the hovercraft.

It's new. Maybe it's going to end badly, but maybe it won't. She hopes this is the love that grows.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Touchy Feely**

Madge didn't quite understand Gale's near constant need to touch her.

Since District Four, since he'd told her about the bomb and Prim, his guilt, and how angry he'd been, since she'd opened that particular door and hugged _him_, not the other way around, he'd constantly been finding ways to touch her.

He'd brush the hair from her face and tuck it behind her ears, hold her hand and brush his calloused fingers over her knuckles, hug her and bury his face in her hair…

"Are you smelling me, Gale?" She'd asked him as he'd inhaled her, breathed her in like oxygen.

"You smell nice," had been his simple answer.

She saw herself as his roots, holding him to the earth when there was so much trying to pull him away. His hugging her was just the physical manifestation of that, at least that's what she told herself.

Besides, Madge knew the Hawthornes were, in general, very affectionate, she'd probably received more real hugs from Vick during the 74th Games than she had from both her parents combined in the entirety of her life. Not that her family hadn't been loving, they simply hadn't express it that well. A pat on the shoulder every now and then, a hug goodbye and an awkward kiss on the cheek were their mainstay.

Gale was always giving his siblings hugs, playfully roughhousing, giving his mother and sister a kiss on the cheek, though. They were just a much more physical family, she decided.

Eventually she got use to it, after several months, the hugs, the hand holding, the touching.

Then she and Gale had gone to a gala, something to do with the military she wasn't exactly sure, and they'd dance.

It had been nothing special at first, she'd had to lead him a bit, he'd never done ballroom dancing or slow dancing, but they'd muddled through. As the night had gone on, though, his hand had slipped lower and lower on her back until his fingers were just below the sash at her waist.

_Maybe it's a territorial thing_. There had been a lot of old men with leering eyes and eager hands.

"Gale," she'd murmured into his shoulder. "Your hand…is a little low."

He pulls back, some of her hair still clung to his face where he'd been resting it against her head, and his hand readjusts on her waist. A small frown forms on his lips.

"Oh, sorry."

Madge couldn't help but laugh just a little. Maybe she's the first girl to ever tell him to get his hands off her backside.

His brow knits, "What?"

"You're a little handsy," she finally tells him. Mostly because she can't think of a better term for it.

Not handsy like the Capitol programs she'd watched with the staff, particularly Mrs. Oberst, where the exchanges had escalated far quicker than Madge had felt was right. The actors and actresses would go from nauseating flirting to unnatural acrobatics in under thirty minutes, a fact that Madge is certain mentally scarred her to some degree.

He isn't even handsy like he'd been back in District Twelve, where his reputation at the slag heap was of mythical proportions.

It was sweet, Madge decided, somewhere between hesitant and eager. Painfully curious about what boundaries she would put up. He's not touching her just to be touching her. It was as if he wanted constant reassurance that she wasn't a dream, wasn't going to dissipate, turn to dust and blow away in the wind.

She pulls him to her, tightly against her chest, and rubs her hands up and down the length of his back. The fabric of his suit is smooth under her palms.

"It's okay," she tells him. "It's nice. Kind of like you want me around."

He chuckles. It vibrates through them, between them, and Madge remembers being seventeen and thinking that laugh was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard and being so proud at being the one to cause it.

She presses her face to his chest and takes a deep breath, he still smells of detergent, earth, and wind. Just like he always had. She wonders if, maybe, she smells like home too.

A small part of her mind wonders, and she wishes wouldn't, if his lips taste like home too.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

Warning: Implied hanky panky, if that bothers anyone. Nothing graphic or explicit, just really, really, _really_ implied.

**Let It Go**

Gale liked to sleep on top of her.

She'd known he was a stomach sleeper. His back had healed, the nerves were numb, but he still had phantom pains shoot through it occasionally and sleeping or lying on it only aggravated things.

That first time they'd shared a bed, simply for sleep, had been back in District Twelve. He'd just needed the comfort of her warmth, her heartbeat and breath, to assure him, after watching Peeta nearly die and Katniss' panic, that he had worth. He'd been a little selfish, he'd even admitted it at the time, to use her as his security blanket. He'd know, somewhere in the back of his thick skull, that she cared about him.

During the night he'd pulled her to him.

It had panicked her, waking to find his weight on her, stomach to stomach, his cheek to her sternum and his breath ghosting over her nightgown.

After he'd found her again, after the Rebellion, she'd refused for months to even share his room when he took her on trips with him. After months more she'd acquiesced to a shared room, then finally the bed. It didn't make any sense, he'd reasoned with her, to take up more room than they needed to. There were other officials and men with the military on those journeys, and the few hotels were quick to fill, she was taking up important space. He'd attempted to use the somewhat same logic with the shower, conserve water, not be wasteful, but Madge felt she had to draw the line at some point

Later she realized he just liked having her in the room with him, and in the bed even more.

She'd woken again to find him nuzzling into her chest, an extension of his 'handsy' behavior she'd still had trouble with from time to time. His hands had wandered up her nightgown, one between her shoulder blades, the other on the small of her back, again, his fingers just below the band of her sleep pants.

Quickly she'd crawled out from under him, pretended to need to use the bathroom. He'd groggily, unaware of what his mindless hands had been doing, nodded to her before falling back fast asleep.

Eventually, she got use to waking with him pressing his nose just below her bust, hands in places she didn't _not_want them, but that weren't appropriate for him to touch anyway.

It was how things were. Simple as that.

She really hadn't been paying attention. She was so good at reasoning things out on other people _for_other people, but when it came to her own relationships she was hopeless and blind.

Then he'd kissed her and things had changed again.

She was terrified. She didn't know what he expected or what she even expected.

Relations, with anyone, had always been a distant, highly unlikely possibility. The only actual talk she'd ever received on the subject had been with her mother, telling her she shouldn't use latex, and Mr. Abernathy warning her against a bevy of diseases, real, imagined, and impossible to transmit through intercourse.

She'd not shared his bed in Two, Hazelle wouldn't allow it, so she'd escaped the inevitable for a while.

Then they'd gone to Six for another military gala.

It was an unpleasant District. Dirty and filled with concrete, hardly a plant or animal in sight. The hotel was every bit as filthy. Ancient with dark brick and a neon red sign, probably taller than she was, that simply read 'Hotel' on top.

He'd taken her hand and led her, to the elevator, then down the hall with shaggy ruby carpet, then to the room.

When they crossed the threshold she surveyed it. The bed was large enough, larger than her parent's bed had been back in Twelve, there was a squishy, comfortable looking couch, and, _oh look there_, a quite large bathroom for her to lock herself in when this inevitably went south.

Gale seemed oblivious to her discomfort as he started stripping off his outer layers.

She decided to play dumb.

"Gale?"

He'd looked up at her, an expression of perfect innocence on his face.

"Gale there's only one bed."

He frowned, looked at the bed, nodded, then looked back at her, "Yeah."

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"In the bed," his brow creased a little more.

"Then where are you going to sleep?"

"In the…bed?" he seemed utterly confused.

She nodded to herself, "So…we're both sleeping…in the bed."

He probably thought she'd lost her marbles. "Yeah, guess we are."

Her stomach churned and she was certain she was turning the color of that awful kelp the people of District Four always insisted on eating.

Madge retrieved her bag, it had come ahead of them, and prepared to race into the bathroom once Gale finished. She bustled past him when he emerged clad in only his boxers.

Once she had stripped off her dress, tossed the painful shoes away, and pulled those awful hose off her legs she examined herself in the mirror. She was pale and lumpy and she hadn't even worn her nicest underwear. That was the least she could've done, package herself in a little more appealing way. This was going to be a disaster.

The schools didn't teach them about this, which she finds far more important than the many fabulous uses of coal.

She'd watched Capitol programs with the staff, particularly Mrs. Oberst, and they were a little _too_ informative. She also hoped they were a little inaccurate. She's certain she wouldn't survive those acrobatics.

Her hand drug through her hair and tugged out the dozens of pins preventing it collapsing on her and she thought. Her worried mind suddenly jumped to a solution.

District Six was notoriously chilly. Madge had, very brilliantly, brought several sets of long underwear and sweaters. She, less than brilliantly, decided that putting all of them on was the remedy to her problem.

###########################################################

It wasn't until she opened the door and saw the look of utter bewilderment on Gale's face that she realized how stupid she must look.

"Were you cold?"

She nodded.

As casually as she could, Madge walked to the far side of the bed, picked up the covers, and slipped under.

She was at the very edge, just barely on the mattress, and when Gale reached over and lightly tapped her shoulder she panicked, flailed, and slipped off.

"Madge!"

He dropped off the side down to her. She rolled over, she had on so many layer she felt like one of the turtles she and Posy had seen at the zoo just a few months ago that had flipped on its back and been stuck there until someone flipped him back over.

Gale pulled her up, into a sitting position, and gave her a hard look, "What is wrong with you tonight?"

She could feel herself shaking all over, "Gale, I'm s-sorry."

No tears were falling yet, but she was trembling terribly, like she'd been pulled from a frozen lake. Gale pulled her into his lap and against his bare chest, began rubbing circles on her back, and muttered something that sounded like 'crazy girl' into her hair.

"I can't do it, Gale. Not yet. I'm too scared."

He froze and pulled back, examining her as if she'd just told him she had murdered someone and hidden the body in the closet.

"Madge, you know that's not what I meant. I actually meant we were going to sleep."

Her fingers press to her eyes, "But…"

She's back against his chest and he's chuckling, it tickles her ears, and she forces her face up so that she's looking at his face. He must read the question in her eyes because he kisses her, just a quick reassuring thing, and sighs.

"When you're ready, okay. Not before."

He isn't going to mess this up. She can hear the promise in the tone of his voice.

A weak smile finds its way onto her face.

####################################################

It was during an ice storm in Nine when she was ready.

The trees were encased in ice, making them fragile. They shimmered in the sun and reflected the lamp light in the little town they'd gotten stuck in.

They'd lost electricity during the night and Gale had woken and started a fire in the little fireplace by the tiny bed.

Madge had curled into the tiniest ball, trying to conserve her body heat.

"Come here."

He'd crawled back into the bed, back on top of her, pressing his lips to her neck.

"You are freezing!" She'd yelped when his cold nose had nuzzled into her collarbone.

"You hog all the blankets," he murmured against her ear.

Madge rolled her eyes. Even if she did steal all the blankets he was right on top of her, they wouldn't get too far.

Then he reached down and lifted the hem of her gown. Before she could stop him he'd put his face in her stomach, kissing it and blowing raspberries.

It _tickled_!

"Gale! No!" She'd laughed.

It wasn't fair. He had the high ground.

Slowly the raspberries became less, the kisses more frequent, higher on her stomach, then her ribs, then between her breasts…

Her gown was gone and she was pressed to him, his lips at hers, then her eyes, her jaw, her neck…

She was breathless when he pulled back, nose to nose, a sweetly questioning look in his stormy gray eyes.

Madge took his face in her hands and pulled herself up, kissed him with more ferocity than she'd ever known herself to possess. Her arms found their way around his neck, forcing him down with her.

"Don't you dare stop, Gale Hawthorne."

When it was over they collapsed, neither one so cold anymore. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers combing through his hair and traveling the lines of his scars and he'd nuzzled contentedly into her neck. Then they fell asleep, with him on top of her.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Insecurity**

The little blanket is soft and fluffy, almost too fluffy, as Madge runs her fingers lightly over it.

Vick had seen and asked her slyly if there was something she and Gale hadn't told them. She'd given him a small smile, fought off the frustration, and told him no, there wasn't.

"Oh," he'd looked a little disappointed. "I just thought…you two've been married for almost a year. Thought maybe-"

"We're not," she told him, a little too curtly.

He'd upset her and he knew it. His mouth snapped shut and he moved on to the next stand at the market, one a very young woman with a baby on her hip was running, filled with fruits and nuts all the way from District Eleven. Before she could apologize for her rudeness he'd begun busying himself with being overly interested in a green apple.

"Vick?"

"Hmm?" He'd put the apple down and picked up some unfamiliar fruit, examining it.

"I didn't-I'm not mad at you," she sighed. She wasn't mad at anyone but herself.

"It's okay, Madge, sometimes it takes a while to get pregnant." He grimaced, "Look how long it was between Gale and Rory. Though maybe Gale was just a giant pain in the ass and they didn't know if they wanted anymore."

That got a laugh out of her. She shook her head and grinned up at him, she'd dare him to tell Gale that.

The smile that he'd so quickly put there slipped off. She didn't want to talk about it, especially with Vick, even if he was as close to a best friend as she'd ever hoped to have, he was still Gale's brother.

But she didn't make friends easily, never really had, acquaintances, yes, but friends were few and far between. Katniss had been her first true friend, though she felt that bridge was too old and in far too much disrepair after so many years apart to be considered a friendship anymore. Gale and his family, Katy-Jo Lewes and the handful of people she'd been thrust upon in District Ten, those were her main interactions now. Everyone else in her immediate vicinity were just people she knew. She didn't need all the stimulation of too many people, she'd had her fill of it during her time as the Mayor's daughter, smiling and playing hostess to strangers acting as friends.

"What's the matter?"

She shrugged and walked away, to one of the little benches provided by the market, collapsed down onto it. After a few seconds, Vick slouched his lanky frame down beside her.

"You can tell me," he smiles weakly. Probably afraid he's about to learn more about his brother's private life than he really wants to know.

She would laugh at his discomfort, but she's too busy formulating how to say what she's about to. Finally, she settles on, "It…isn't taking Gale and I a long time to get pregnant."

Vick stares at her, not seeming to understand what she's saying.

"But you just said you aren't…"

She busies herself smoothing out her skirt, waiting for him to work through her words. His eyebrows are knitted together in focus, looking remarkably like Gale when he's focused on a particularly finicky problem from work. Then his eyes widen.

"But-don't the two of you want kids?"

Madge presses her palms into her thighs.

She did. She_hadn't_, for most of her life, thought children would be in her future, not anymore than she'd thought a relationship was. So much had changed, though, and a child, possibly children, didn't seem like such a distant fantasy.

Gale, she'd always assumed, would want kids. He'd had three siblings after all. Whenever she edged toward the subject, though, he quickly backed from it, changed it, distracted her in any way he could without being obvious, or sometimes a little too obviously.

She'd run through every possible reason for it she could think of.

Maybe he was tired of raising kids. He'd practically helped his mother raise his siblings, was all but a father to them. He was so proud of them, always bragging about their accomplishments and telling stories about their childhood, though. Every single dance recital Posy had and each and every sport competition Rory and Vick had, Gale was there. He was, very much and despite their increasing ages, still raising them. So she couldn't believe that was the reason.

He liked children, and was very good with them, even if he didn't always like that fact. The neighbor's kids, and several of their friends, had latched onto him, finding him fascinating. His knowledge of ropes and snares, archery and tracking, all had earned him a reputation as someone who simply knew _everything_ about the woods and survival. A fact that was, in Madge's opinion, not entirely untrue. The children, the youngest a spindly six and the oldest a burly eleven, had even convinced Gale and their father, formerly a quarrier, to take them to the woods for a weekend. Despite wanting to do nothing more than stay home and stay in bed with Madge, he'd gone.

Gale knew how to speak with children. He knew how to take care of them.

Not only was she an only child, she had no cousins, not even distant ones. She'd grown up a very isolated life. She didn't know how to take care of a child, much less a baby. There were no former babysitting jobs in her past, no diaper changes or messy meals cleaned up.

She couldn't cook anything that didn't involve an abundance of sugar. Candies and fudges she could make in a heartbeat, and ice cream she could handle, but the first time she'd ever tried her hand at a protein based food, a sad little chicken, she couldn't even get the feathers off. Cooking had never been required of her, not with her parents and not with Katy-Jo Lewes. He'd come home to her sobbing over the mess she'd made, still trying fruitlessly to clean it.

Madge couldn't sew, not like his mother. A seamstress had always been available. She'd nearly ruined several of his socks trying to mend them only to have Hazelle step in and fix her mistakes.

Then there was driving. A terror if there ever was.

He'd taken her out, despite her complete certainty that she neither wanted nor needed lessons. There was always someone available to take her where she needed to go, and if not, she'd walk or jog or take her bike. Gale had seen it differently.

"What if it's raining or snowing?"

She'd shrugged, "I'll stay in."

It really wasn't that hard to understand, at least no to her, but Gale had rolled his eyes and persisted.

It had ended with him yelling at her for swerving too much and her in angry tears.

"I don't think that's it, Madge," Vick frowned after listening to her list of failings.

"Then what is t, Vick?" She pressed her palms to her eyes and willed them not to cry. "Maybe he remembers my parents."

Her father, in another life, would have made a splendid teacher. Almost every moment in Madge's life was treated as a learning experience, there were no simple childish games, only lessons. Chess and cards, patterns and lies, she'd constantly learned to play games, practice the art of keeping her intentions, her meanings, veiled.

Then there was her mother…the list of her troubles only started with the morphling. Whether her depression sprang from her headaches or her headaches from her depression was a question Madge would never have the answer to. She'd become an addict to the only thing that could rescue her from the aching of the world she lived in, regardless of where it arose from.

Madge could only conclude it wasn't the children that Gale was hesitant about.

It was her.

Madge, she decided of herself, was more than enough child for Gale without adding another.

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't see you as a child," Vick had grinned.

Madge rolled her eyes, "You know what I mean." She sighed, "He doesn't think, no, he_knows_ I'll be hopeless as a mother. Hopeless as I am at everything else domestic."

Vick wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his shoulder.

"You aren't hopeless, who keeps track of your finances?"

She frowns. She did of course, Gale was a disaster with budgeting his money. Most of his life had been spent with so little of it when he finally had some he packed it away to the point of having almost none to live on. In the first year after reuniting, Madge had to help him learn to use some of his funds and realize he had money for 'stupid' things. Like new shirts and butter. He'd been so excited he'd taken her when he purchased his mother a real, electric washing machine, despite the recipients protest. "Me, but-"

"Which of you does the shopping?"

Madge felt that fell in with the budget, but gestured to herself. Gale shopping in District Two often deteriorated into a shouting match with the vendors. He swore they were charging too much and they told him he didn't understand the current trends of the market. This often resulted in him telling them he understood growing seasons and that they were practically committing larceny with 'those prices'.

"A basket of strawberries shouldn't cost that much."

She'd tried not to laugh. They were only charging a little more than she'd use to pay for he and Katniss' strawberries back in District Twelve, and she thought that was more than a fair price.

Rather than risk Gale getting into an all out brawl, Madge would go to the market while he was at work and smiles sweetly and never tells Gale she still overpays just a little bit for her wares. Keeping him from a bloodied face, she decided, did entitle her to count 'shopping' among her assets.

"And you're in charge of the garden, right?"

That was a given, she'd had her garden back in District Twelve, and when they got their little house the first thing she'd done was to get Gale to till her a somewhat larger plot of land. She knew when to plant and when to pick and kept the little space clear of weeds. Gale was in charge of 'dealing' with the rabbits and deer that saw it as their own personal diner, but otherwise it was all hers.

"Those have nothing to do with raising children. Gale won't want to be doing it all by himself." She forced a pained smile.

"He won't be. Maybe you don't have any experience raising kids, maybe you don't think your parents did the greatest job, but Madge, no one's parents do the greatest. They just do the best they can."

Her eyebrows arch, "Your mother did a pretty good job."

His shoulders jerk, "She did the best she could, all things considered. She let Gale shoulder a lot of responsibility he shouldn't have had to, not by force and definitely not by choice, but she did. It spared Rory, Posy, and me, but it wasn't fair to Gale. She would probably even tell you that." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end, "We use to fight about our punishments, because they weren't always the same. But they couldn't be, because kids are all different. My brothers and sister and me, all needed different things. Gale needed the stick out of his ass, Rory needed his ass kicked, and Posy needed to stop being a pain in the ass."

Madge snorts. Vick grins down at her.

"For what it's worth, I don't think your parents did too bad a job with you. You're smart, you're kind," he pulls her a little tighter to his side, "and you're alive."

He holds her there for a few minutes before pulling back and smiling brightly at her. "You'll be a good mother someday, Madge. Maybe you and Gale will do some things the same as your parents, but you'll do a lot different too, because your kids'll be different than you and they'll need different things. And you'll know what you hated and you'll avoid that too."

Madge smiles, genuinely for the first time since they'd started their little conversation. Vick's always brightened her day; she should've never doubted talking to him.

She leans over and gives him a quick peck on the cheek, "When did you get so smart?"

He shrugs, "I've always been smart. I'm the smartest person in my family, didn't you know that?"

She snorts. He nudges her with his shoulder, his face suddenly serious.

"Talk to Gale, okay? Don't hint, be blunt, sometimes that's the only thing that gets through that thick skull of his." He pats her hand, "There's got to be a good reason. I promise."

################################################

Gale hears the door click shut in the front room, signaling Madge has returned from the market. She always tried to go while he was at work, something about him being a 'walking talking disaster' and not wanting to have to bail him out of jail. He really didn't understand it.

He'd come home early from work. One of the idiots in charge had decided to replace some water lines and busted them, leaving the entire military complex without running water, which didn't bother Gale so much, he always brought his own drink, but the others in the building went into hysterics.

Cheerfully, he'd left, hoping to have an afternoon with Madge.

Only she'd been missing, her bike still in the shed. A quick call to his mother and he found out she'd talked Vick into driving her down to the market. That boy was such a pushover. If he'd just help Gale, they could convince her to try driving again, then she wouldn't be using him as her personal chauffer.

He quietly pads down the stairs and heads to the kitchen, finding her putting away her purchases. Gale glares at a basket of strawberries, she probably didn't even try to argue that jerk to a reasonable price.

Before she knows he's there, he sneaks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pressing his lips to her neck. She squeaks in surprise.

"You're home early!"

He nips at her ear, grinning. "Yep."

His right hand snakes under her shirt and his left begins working her skirt up, searching for the bottom hem. Normally she'd turn into him, press her lips to his jaw and wrap her arms around his neck until he picked her up and carried her to bed, but instead she stiffens and gently pushes his hand down.

"Gale…we-I need to talk to you."

_That doesn't sound promising._

He frowns at her back as she pulls away, turns to face him, and backs up against the counter. For a few seconds she just stares at him, apparently thinking. Finally she seems to come to a decision.

"Gale, do you want kids?"

Her mouth is set in a little pucker and her eyebrows are drawn together just slightly.

Usually she flitters around the subject, doesn't directly address it, and he quite appreciates that. It makes it easier to avoid.

She would talk about the neighbor's kids, a rambunctious pair that had it in their head he was some kind of uncle to them, with a look of wistfulness. She'd mention names she'd heard, ask him if they sounded nice or too 'District Two'. He'd catch her watching families with babies and little children. She'd even attempted knitting, which was as hilarious as it was heartbreaking to him. The tiny socks she'd made only vaguely resembled a foot, and, after she finished laughing at her own handiwork, she vehemently told him they were only so small because they were 'practice'.

Then, a few months back, she'd asked how he felt about a pet.

"A little dog or a cat?…Or a bird? Fish?"

Animals were only good for a few things in Gale's opinion: wasting food, making food, or being food.

"Why would you want one?" He'd grumbled. "They're filthy and a waste of time. They need too much attention."

She chuckled sadly, "Yeah, you're right. Stupid thought. I couldn't handle a pet."

The look of disappointment on her face told him it was about more than a furry nuisance.

In the back of his head he'd known it was coming, that she'd drop her hinting and come out and ask him the question she so clearly wanted to ask.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, "Madge…."

Where he was even supposed to begin he didn't know. So he sighed, closing his eyes, "It-it isn't that I don't want them…"

A lifetime ago he'd said if he didn't live in District Twelve, he would want them. Now here he was, years, a revolution, and several districts, out, without any children.

She takes a sharp breath in and Gale opens his eyes and finds her clutching the countertop. Her eyes are shiny, she hates to cry, believes it makes her look weak he thinks, so she'll fight them until they force their way out.

"You don't want them with me," she finally says, her voice breaking.

Gale feels his pulse quicken and his eyes widen. "What?"

It's ridiculous. Who else would he want them with? He prays this isn't some weird jealously thing. He'd thought they put that to rest before they got married.

"You don't think I can handle kids. I was such a selfish, spoiled brat growing up, didn't have to think about anyone but myself, you don't think I'll be able to take care of them."

She's staring at the ground now, her hand clutched in front of her painfully. Old insecurities bubbling to the top and over and it's all Gale's fault.

He takes a step toward her and pulls her to him, a little rougher than he'd intended, she hits his chest with a little more force than he expects and they stumble back a few inches.

"Madge, there is no one, _no one_, in this world I would rather have kids with."

She's smart, much smarter than he ever had the hope of being. She rarely loses her temper, he admires her for it, he knows he isn't always the easiest person to get along with. She's funny, not always because she's trying, but through her sheer grace, her smiles, and willingness to laugh at herself.

Any children they had would be getting half her genes, and he feels that's a blessing.

"You were never selfish or spoiled," he tells her. Those words should've never been place on her. She was a bit shy, quiet and reserved, but kind and willing to help people even when there was no benefit to her. And she was anything but spoiled. Gale thinks she may have been one of the most emotionally neglected people in all of District Twelve, and not just because of her parents.

He runs his hand through her hair, pressed a kiss in its wake as he thinks how to say what he needs to say.

"I-I don't deserve kids," he finally whispers into her hair.

He'd killed kids. Innocent people. Prim was the only one he knew, but there'd been others. He doesn't even know the body count for all the families he ruined, all the children he'd stolen from families. Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers, Gale was responsible for killing them all. He'd killed children, ones from the Capitol and ones, like Prim, rushing in to help. They might not have all been as young as her, but they'd all been innocent, non-combatants.

Then there was The Nut. He'd been willing to bury those within that mountain with their assault. His own father had died, buried deep in the ground within a mine, and he'd been willing to do nearly the same to people he didn't know. People with families.

Madge clings to him tighter, "Gale, you're making amends."

But he'd never be clean of the blood on his hands. Not even Madge, with her sweet smiles and her soft kisses could absolve him of his sins. He couldn't do it, stain a child with being his. He had too much already, far more than he deserved.

She pulls back, taking his hands in hers and kissing his knuckles.

"I don't deserve all this happiness. I have you, my family, a future, and I don't deserve any of it." He closes his eyes, "What if you get pregnant and something happens?"

It was nothing less than he deserved, to lose Madge and any life they might possibly create. He wasn't superstitious, but he knew, down to his bones, he was due more suffering.

"What if you make me learn to drive that horrible car and I crash because I'm 'swerving'?" Her mouth turns up slightly. "We can't live our lives in 'what if's'. You fought for us to have a chance at happiness, a chance for our kids to be kids, not be Reaped or take out Tesserae."

She puts his hand to her chest, "Gale, life isn't fair, you know that as well as anyone, but there isn't some cosmic scale balancing out happiness and misery, and if there were you'd have had more than your weight in the latter." Her hand smashes his over her heart with a little more force, he can almost feel it beating through her chest. "We're alive, Gale."

_She's alive._

He remembers finding her, so long ago, in the coffee shop in District Ten. Small and broken, but _alive_. Later, he realized that while she was breathing, moving, thinking, she wasn't alive, not really. When he finally cracked through her protective shell it was as if she were waking from a years long slumber, unrefreshed, and confused, about so many things.

She'd deserved a chance to live, and he slowly convinced her to.

Now she was trying to do the same for him.

His hand jumps from her heart to her shoulder, pushes her back to the counter, as he lunges forward, pressing her to him. His other hand tangles in her hair, then down to the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward.

"Gale, stop! We need to finish talking," she yells, as he again begins on her skirt.

He takes her face between his thumb and forefinger and gives her a narrow look, "Do you want a baby or not?"

Madge's face freezes as she processes what he's said. Her eyes widen and her jaw slackens with realization.

"Gale-"

But he's already peppering her face, her neck, with kisses, trying to unlatch and unzip everything he can. He pauses just long enough to pick her up, she'd squealed something about not on the counter, and begin carrying her to their bedroom.

Gale wasn't perfect, he knew that, and Madge wasn't either, though he was hard pressed to find any fault in her at the moment. Maybe, with all their combined mistakes, her trying to avoid situations, obliquely referencing things and praying he'd catch on, and his constantly trying to punish himself for all his many faults, they'd be able to raise a child that could bypass all their pain.

A child that could just be _alive._


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**A Lovely Trick**

Madge remembered her first kiss less than fondly. It was spontaneous, but not in a good way. Full of bitterness and anger, it had caused tears and a very distinct queasiness in her stomach. It had been such an unpleasant experience that some people, she'd decided, probably just didn't need to kiss.

Her second kiss had been spontaneous too. Out on the on the runway with Gale, it had been so sudden, so unexpected that she'd barely registered much more than that his lips were chapped. She'd run from him after that, stayed away for days before being forced to her senses.

It had been a good kiss, she later decided. A little hesitant, but gentle and hopeful as the look in his eyes when it ended.

Madge had been determined to be prepared for the next kiss, anticipating it at every turn once they'd landed in Two. His family was around, constantly bounding in and out, at their sides, and she was certain he was just waiting for them to have some time by themselves before he tried again.

They went on a walk the first evening, but nothing happened. The second evening, another walk, still nothing. He held her hand, ran his fingers through her hair, clung to her waist, traced his fingers along her spine, but made no indication he was considering kissing her again.

By the fourth night she was brimming with anxiety.

_Maybe I'm just bad at it…_

She'd also cried last time he'd kissed her. And run off. That, may have, she thought, had some bearing on his lack of action.

He was examining a tree, searching its branches for a nest he told her he was certain was there when she finally felt the little bubble burst in her.

"Gale?"

He turned back to her with a frown, the tone of her voice clearly worrying to him. His eyebrows rose.

Madge could feel her face warming, knew her cheeks were crimson at just the thought of her question.

"Do-was," her mouth had gone dry. He frowned, apparently he didn't speak 'terrified and crazy'.

She took another breath to steady herself.

"Do you want to kiss me?" She finally blurts out.

Gale's frown deepens, his gray eyes flicker uncertainly.

She'd bungled things so badly the first time, he'd been pulling her forward with her life, he didn't deserve to constantly be making the first move. Her mouth takes off before her mind can tell it to stop.

With a slight jump, she lands on him, arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level and crushing her lips to his. He'd put on chapstick, but she could still feel the roughness of them as they pressed to hers.

It started much the same as their kiss at the hoverport, gentle and unsure, and she's positive Gale is in as much shock as she had been that day when he'd kissed her.

As she's about to break it off, he isn't responding, and she's afraid she might've upset him or hurt his neck pulling him down, his arms wrap around her. He presses, bruising hard, as the kiss deepens, parting her lips.

He lifts her, fingers and hands gripping into her waist and hips, back and neck almost painfully. Gale's mouth wanders, to her cheeks, eyes, down to her jaw and neck, then back to her lips. The coarseness of the whiskers on his cheek scratching against her skin.

There's no hesitancy, no gentleness, in this kiss. It's all eagerness and force. When his eyes open briefly, look at her, they're dark, only the smallest bit of light from the now quietly watching moon reflects back at her from them.

It takes her a second to realize, to pinpoint his look. It isn't lust, though that's definitely in the mix, but his look, his hands, his lips are full of something she thinks is just as primal. It's a heartbreaking neediness.

Her back scrapes on something and she realizes they've stumbled back and into a tree.

"Omph," she groans into his mouth as she tries to wiggle from it.

The moment is broken, though, and his lips are less aggressive, his hands become softer against her curves. He put her down, gently letting her drop to her feet, but his hands don't leave her.

He leans down, pulls her close again, and nuzzles his face into her hair as he gently combs the tangles he'd created out.

"I didn't want to scare you off again.'

Madge feels her heart stop. It hadn't occurred to her just how badly her leaving him on the runway had probably affected him. How hard it had been for him, a person so use to being the hunter, the pursuer, to not chase after her, to let her choose to come back to him, she can't even imagine. He'd let her come to her own conclusion, though, and she's grateful for that.

He'd learned the lesson the hard way that chasing a person, no matter how true your intentions were, wasn't always the best way to their heart. It may not hurt the relationship, but it didn't guarantee you a permanent spot in their heart.

Gale, for all his accomplishments, had suffered losses, too many, Madge felt to be fair. She was determined not to be one of them.

She runs her hand along his jaw, tracing it, before pulling her eyes up to his.

His look is still tentative, worried what she's going to say.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She presses a quick kiss to his lips, a gentle promise. Gale's mouth slowly curves up, into a small grin that he quickly buries in her neck, pressing his lips to it.

Madge is done running, done hiding, and he needs to know that. It may be a slow walk to where they're going, but they're going together.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

_He deserved his misery, he knew that, but Madge didn't._

**Come To Roost**

(Small warning: Little bit-o-language, one word really, and some less than veiled talk of past actions. Not bad, not explicit, and only a teeny tiny bit, but had it pointed out that if you squint it might make some uncomfortable.)

Gale had known, had a gut feeling, that he shouldn't have taken Madge to District Seven. Their relationship was still so new, she'd been so hesitant to take that next step, and he didn't want to expose her to his less than stunning immediate post war life. But he'd taken her with him to every other at this point, he couldn't avoid it forever, much as he would've liked to.

The District itself wasn't the problem. It was heavily wooded and full of game for hunts, not an expanse of emptiness, and no smog as was the norm in the more industrial Districts.

There was only one real problem with District Seven, and it was drinking heavily at the bar.

After the Rebellion, after Katniss' trial, and after she and Mellark were sent back to District Twelve, he'd been in a bad way. Drank too much, lost himself in his work, left his family in Thirteen while he traipsed across the country…

His biggest mistake, though, had been with Johanna Mason.

She was combustible and he was fire, and they'd exploded when near each other. It had culminated in a few horrible months of fights and angry not-quite-make-ups, which he whole heartedly regretted.

Finally, after a particularly bad day, he'd gone home to find his mother and siblings on the doorstep of his pathetic and filthy military issued apartment in District Two.

"Gale," his mother had sighed. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. Please. We still love you."

His family needing him had pulled him from that place. They didn't deserve to be neglected, and he had to, he had always had to, watch out for them, keep them safe. What would happen to them without him? His mother was strong, but she'd had him for so long, helping. He couldn't abandon them.

Eventually he'd found Madge, and she needed him too, in a different way. She'd needed him to pull her back and show her the world was a little more bright, at least for him, with her in it. To show her that being alive was a gift that so many had snatched away from them, that she was a miracle.

Breaking things off with Johanna, though, had been messy, to say the least. He'd done it over the phone, out of necessity and out of fear, he had no doubt she could and would kill him if she had the opportunity. There'd been a lot of yelling, screaming, hurtful things said on both sides. They had been a mistake, every moment of them…

"Fuck you, Gale Hawthorne."

Then she'd slammed the phone, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone and guilty relief.

It had been a long, painful process, but his family needed him and he wouldn't fail them like he'd done with so many others.

Now, with Madge on his arm, his biggest mistake was eyeing them, like a wild dog catching the scent of a wounded animal. Normally she avoided the galas; she'd told him once they were too much like the days of her Victory Tour, flashing cameras and dirty old men.

Gale had understood, had commiserated, he'd become one of the faces most associated with the Rebellion and then in helping set up the new government. He'd enjoyed it for a short time before craving his anonymity again.

While he eventually was able to escape the spotlight for the most part, Johanna never would.

Which is why he'd hoped she would once again spit in the faces of the new District Seven Mayor, not show up. Clearly, he wasn't that lucky.

Johanna stood and straightened her back before beginning an unmistakable, if weaving, path toward Gale.

He pulled Madge to the dance floor, kept her there for as long as possible, hoping Johanna would give up whatever it was the glint in her eye told him she wanted. They end up in a far corner of the floor, Gale hoping for some private time, when his fears became reality.

"Well, hello handsome."

Madge looks over his shoulder and he can see Johanna's sneering face reflected in her wide blue eyes. She knows Johanna, knows of her, but doesn't know of she and Gale's shared past.

Johanna strolls around him, running her finger along his shoulder before her hand snaps over and catches his chin, "Avoiding me?"

He jerks from her grasp and gives Madge an encouraging little nudge, away from Johanna's claws. Johanna's eyes widen when they settle on Madge, flickering from the top of her head, along her expensive, if borrowed dress, to her plain heels, then back again.

"Who the hell are _you_?" She sneers, not impressed with what she sees.

Madge's bottom lip puckers slightly, but she quickly fixes a perfunctory smile on her face, "Madge Undersee."

She offers her hand, but Johanna doesn't take it, only eyes it with a vague look before ignoring it completely and turning to Gale.

"I thought you had a fetish for brunettes with bad attitudes, not bubbly blondes with more boobs than brains?"

Madge's hand slowly drops and a look of hurt flutters fleetingly across her features before she leans into Gale and whispers, "I think I'll-I don't think I'm wanted here. I'll go wait by the bar."

Gale catches her hand. "No." His irritation with Johanna's treatment of Madge making him almost shake as he turns to her. "Johanna, I'm leaving. We don't have anything to say to each other."

He turns, puts his hand on Madge's back, is formulating how he's going to explain how much bigger a mess he'd been in the direct aftermath of the Rebellion to her, when Johanna's strong grip catches his upper arm.

"Nothing to say? I feel like I have a lot to say." Her eyes, full of cold fire, narrow on Madge. "Are you his latest fling?"

Madge just barely opens her mouth to speak when Johanna flips back to Gale, "She's just a tiny thing, how do you have any fun with that? Then again you did like to be on top, she looks like a submissive little brat, probably does every little thing you tell her, doesn't she?"

She's up in Madge'se face, nose to nose, before Gale even realizes it, catching her chin in her hand, squeezing her cheeks unnecessarily tight.

"Look at that tiny little mouth. How does she do anything? Or do you just like the feel of her li-"

Gale is about to push her away, but Madge beats him to it. She gives Johanna a look of disgust before turning to Gale, wide eyed and horrified, shaking her head. He can almost read her thoughts. _I've got to get out of here._

She bolts, toward the balcony, Johanna making a popping noise with her mouth to her back.

Gale watches Madge disappear before rounding on Johanna. He deserved his misery, he knew that, but Madge didn't. She hadn't done anything more than show up with his stupid ass.

"What's your problem?"

Johanna polishes off the amber liquid in the glass she'd been swinging around and grinned at him.

"Got rid of blondie, didn't I?" She runs her hand up his arm, onto his chest, "Let's get out of here."

He could smell the liquor all over her, she stank of it. Her eyes were foggy and dark and her stance unsteady. She fell forward into him when he tried to back away.

"One more time?" Her voice was still firm, but muffled by his chest. She held her liquor well, but even she eventually met her limit.

Gale took her by the shoulders and glared at her.

"No." He pushes her along, steering her toward one of the provided drivers. "Get her out of here."

She pushes back, snarling, "You don't get to tell me what to do."

He ignores her, "She's had too much to drink. Get her home."

He turns, leaving her screaming at his back.

###################################################

Madge is sitting at the edge of a fountain, her cheap heels off at her side, staring at the large, colorful fish swimming peacefully below the water's surface.

He knows she'll be angry; she has every right to be. She'll have worked out he and Johanna had a past, and while that itself won't upset her, he'd had several 'relationships', though none with girls as volatile as Johanna Mason, in District Twelve and she knew it, the fact that he hadn't warned her of the possibility of being accosted probably will.

His shadow, from the blazing white lights of the main hall, falls over her and she looks back briefly before returning her gaze to the fish.

Gale drops down beside her, onto the stone bend surrounding the fountain base. He turns his body toward her and studies her.

She looks pale, well, paler than usual. Her expression is still fragile.

He reaches out, runs his hand up her arm, "I'm sorry."

Her face snaps over, odd uncertainty etching into her features. "Why?"

His eyes flicker to the hall, to where Johanna had all but assaulted her. Madge gives him a pained smile, "She isn't your responsibility."

"I should've kept her away from you."

"How?" She laughs, "People will do what they want, eventually."

He doesn't see how it's funny, not in the least. Annoyed, he reaches his hand up, runs the pads of his fingers over the little red patch on her cheek where Johanna had grabbed her.

"She's mad at me and she took it out on you."

It would've been so much simpler if she'd have taken a swing at him, a physical injury he could handle, Madge's bruises, physical or not, were much harder for him to stomach.

"When…" She bites her lip, "When were the two of you…"

Gale drops his hand from her face; he knows he has to tell her, no matter how much he hates it.

"Few months after the fall." He looks up, squints at the top of the water spout as it bubbles, "It wasn't-not really-a _relationship_. It was just…"

He doesn't want to say it, it makes him feel filthy and pathetic, to have used and been used like that. At the time, though, that's all he felt he deserved. Something dark and angry, unbalanced.

There were times he still felt he didn't deserve good things, bright and shining things, like his family and Madge, things that hadn't been charred or tarnished by his failures.

She's scoots closer to him, takes his face in her hands and presses her forehead to his.

"I love you, Gale." A sad little smile flickers in her eyes, "The past is in the past. We can't change it, and we shouldn't. We are who we are because of it, for better or worse."

His hands find her waist and jerk her towards him, she squeaks a little in surprise.

"You aren't mad?"

Her eyebrows arch up, "About an ex-girlf-"

Gale covers her mouth, "Not an ex-girlfriend."

Madge pulls his hand away, "Whatever she is. I know you have exes. I think you took half the girls in your grade through mine to the slag heap, right?"

He narrows his eyes, he really hated that rumor. "Actually, I think you're the only one I didn't."

"Oh," she nods, fighting a smile. "Making up for it now then?"

"What can I say? I don't wanna be known as the guy who stopped with one to go."

His lips catch hers and he leans her back on the stone, hands running up her legs and hiking the expensive borrowed dress up to the tops of her thighs.

"Gale!" She snorts into his shoulder, pushing his hands down, "We are in public!"

_Who cares?_

He persists, nipping at her neck and her jaw. Finally, he kisses the now pink marks on her cheeks, sighing into them.

"I'm sorry she hurt you."

Madge runs her hands through his hair, focusing and thinking, before finally speaking.

"She's hurting too, Gale."

He wrinkles his nose, "She's just-"

This time she covers his mouth, "No, listen. She's lost most of her friends. She stays up here, all alone probably, and I remember her family was killed around the time of her Games. She's suffered. People deal with things in funny ways. Some use drugs, some drink, some work," a hint of a smile flickers on her lips, "some run and hid…"

Gale sighs, nuzzling into her neck and planting a few more kisses as he listens to the soft cadence of her voice reverberate through her chest.

"She's dealing with her issues in her own way. Maybe not the _best_ way, but her way."

##################################################

They pulled up to the ramshackle house in what had once been District Seven's Victor's Village. The yard had long over grown, stumps and wood chips littered the ground. There were several large piles of fire wood scattered about.

Gale sighed. After telling Madge _everything_, right down to his cutting Johanna off by phone, she'd hugged him, kissed him, murmured soothing things into his hair, before telling him something he'd known in the back of his head for years now.

"You need to tell her you're sorry," she told him as she traced the lines of his scars on his back. "I know it isn't something anyone is really at fault for, things like that happen, it was an extreme situation, but…sometimes people need to hear that the other person is willing to shoulder some of the blame, so they can move on."

_Or she'll decapitate me._

Madge stayed in the car as he slowly walked up the dilapidated step and to the front door. He wouldn't have even brought her, but their flight left early and he wouldn't have had time to pick her up, after whatever went down with Johanna went down. He'd warned her to keep her head down, he wasn't sure what Johanna would do if she saw her.

With more than a little uneasiness, Gale knocked on the door.

_Maybe she won't be home_.

The door began creaking open, of course he couldn't be that lucky.

Johanna peaked out, suspiciously eyeing whoever dared disturb her. When she caught sight of Gale, the door opened fractionally more as she leaned against the frame, arms crossed and a sneer on her lips.

"Come to take me up on the offer?"

"No."

"Good, it's off the table anyway." She swings the door open more and waves for him to come in.

He shakes his head and she narrows her eyes, flickering them over his shoulder, past him, and to the still running car.

"Brought blondie, huh? Not my ideal thre-"

Gale puts his hands up, "Stop, alright. Just let me talk."

Her eyebrows shoot up and Gale takes her momentary surprise as an opening.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I used you and I let you use me. I'm sorry it was so horrible. I'm sorry for breaking it off over the phone, it was cowardly and disrespectful. I'm sorry I avoided you all this time and didn't do this sooner. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you the other night. I'm sorry I hurt you."

He finally took a long breath when he finished. When he looked up she was smirking.

"Blondie make you say all that?"

His mouth turns down, "She just told me to do what I knew I should've done a long time ago."

They stand there, staring each other down with heavy unhappiness floating between them. Things would never be good between them, not really, but maybe they could just be not bad. Civil, would even be acceptable in Gale's mind, as long as it didn't result in Madge getting manhandled.

Finally, Johanna shrugs, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Hawthorne." She makes a falsely sweet face and wiggles her fingers over his shoulder, in Madge's direction, then turns and slams the door in his face.

################################################

While he isn't sure whether his talk with Johanna was a success, he still had his head, so that was always a positive.

He pushed the seat rest up and pulled Madge closer to him, wrapping his hand protectively around her waist. She'd been a little too quiet since the last night, when she'd told him he needed to make amends with Johanna, and it worried him.

He pressed a kiss to her head, "What is it?"

She looked up at him, seemingly confused. His mouth set in a narrow line, she knew what he meant.

He felt her shoulders move in a shrug, "Nothing."

His fingers raked through her hair, soft and loose, letting it fall then brushing it off her shoulders. He could guess what the problem was.

"Is it what Johanna said?"

Madge was a little…uncertain, he wasn't even sure if that was the word. She was uncertain of herself with him, anyway, or so it felt. While he knew she was aware that the slag heap rumors were bullshit for the most part, there was always a little anxiety that seemed to creep into her body when they got too close to tumbling over the edge.

Gale can't see her face from his angle, but he can visualize the little pucker of her lip as she frowns, the downward slope her eyebrows would take.

"Look, she was drunk and she just wanted to get under my skin." And she'd done a damn fine job of it. "I-I'm really impressed with you. If it had been me, some guy getting up in my face and saying that crap about you, I'd have decked him."

Suddenly, she swivels in her seat, so that she's looking him in the eyes. "Are you saying I should've hit her?"

"No," he shakes his head. Madge could hit, and hit well, he knew from experience, but hitting Johanna Mason wouldn't have ended well.

Besides, Madge had more self control than that. He'd only seen her lose her temper a few times, and even then it had been a tightly coiled thing, barely fighting its way out of her. Years of smiling and pleasing and never outwardly expressing herself had made her into something of an enigma to Gale. He let his emotions out, yelled, hugged, scowled and smiled, he had a hard time faking things. Madge hardly raised her voice, had been stiff in hugs until he wore her into them, and her expressions were almost always muted. He'd had to learn to read her, something he still failed at more often than not, to tell if he was on the right path.

She picks at her skirt, tugs at a little loose thread in the hem, won't meet his eyes as she speaks this time.

"You won't compare me will you?"

For a moment, he isn't quite sure what she means. The thought had never even occurred to him, to compare Madge to anyone, especially not Johanna.

"It's just…" She smoothes her skirt, "I knew, I mean, I _know_ you've had a few…you know, and," she closes her eyes, " I don't exactly have droves of former boyfriends."

He realizes, belatedly, _how_ she meant to compare them. It almost makes him laugh, she's ridiculous sometimes, but he loves her for it.

"There's no comparing, Madge."

They were too different, and he needs Madge's calm, her control, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life.

He takes her chin in his hand and forces her to look at him, "I'm glad there aren't droves, I don't think_I_ could handle the competition."

She's quiet for a minute, studying his face, when her lips quirk up, a soft little thing, but it's there. Gale grins, presses his forehead to hers.

"You know, she didn't tell me anything I couldn't have guessed," she finally says, a sly little smirk forming on her face.

Gale wrinkles his nose. _What?_

She leans forward a little, cheek to cheek, whispers in his ear, "About certain proclivities."

He groaned. He loved it and hated it when she talked like that.

"I mean, you practically smother me every nigh-"

In one smooth move he pulls her into his lap, one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees with his hand working under her skirt. He nuzzles the collar of her shirt out of the way and starts nipping at her collarbone.

"I'll show you 'proclivities'," he growled as she laughed and protested that they were 'still in public, Gale'.

Their little trip had at least not resulted in a massive setback in their relationship.

Though he doubted he'd want to return to District Seven, with or without Madge, anytime in the next century.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Where we're going**

Gale found the house while out driving one day and loved it from the moment he saw it.

They were pushing to give him a desk job now that the new government was more settled, most of the work he'd been doing was finalizing, he won't be able to drop in on Madge in Ten as often. He can't stomach that.

He couldn't imagine his life without her, and he didn't want to.

He'd considered getting another apartment, like the one he'd had when the military had paid for it early in his career, but it seemed a waste to him. Pouring all that money into something he wouldn't even own reminded him too much of the little house his family had rented from the government in the Seam.

There was his mother's house, but that would put an end to he and Madge's nighttime activities. She wouldn't even let them share a bed during visits. He still cringed remembering the first time they'd stayed there after getting together.

"Gale," his mother had shaken her head, fighting off a smile. "I _cannot_ let you and your girlfriend share a bed when your brothers and sister are in the house."

He crossed his arms over his chest, "Why not?"

Her eyebrows rose, "Don't pout. You know _why_."

Gale uncrossed his arms, then recrossed them, huffing. "We aren't going to do anything. We just got together. She ran off crying when I kissed her."

"Maybe you're out of practice," she smirked. "Honey, she may not be up to kissing, but the way you're pawing at her constantly, even if you _aren't_ doing anything in bed, I guarantee your siblings will think you are."

"I don't _paw_ at her," he muttered. "And we share a bed all the time."

He'd belatedly realized his mother wasn't aware of that bit of knowledge when she turned to him with arched eyebrows and wide eyes.

_Damn_.

"And why, exactly, do the two of you need to share a bed _all the time_? Is there a bed shortage at the hotels that I'm unaware of?"

Gale rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her stare.

"Uh, I mighta made it seem like, you know, they needed the rooms for the other guys and their families, and, uh, made her feel a little guilty for taking up space…"

It hadn't been a total lie. There were a lot of officials and military officers traveling, filling up the tiny hotels. They often _did_ run out of rooms. The bed thing was a little bit more of a stretch, but she hadn't put up much of a fight, so he didn't feel too guilty.

His mother's mouth had pressed into a thin line. "The answer is still no."

In the end he'd listened to Rory snore all night instead of the soft, infrequent noises Madge made. He'd spent the next few nights racking his brain on how to avoid the same situation the next time the two of them came up.

It had been a blessing in disguise. Madge had been a ball of nerves about the bed situation, had it in her head he was expecting her to jump his bones the first night out. He wouldn't have minded it, but he certainly hadn't thought it was even the remotest of possibilities. While she was fine with him touching her, kissing her too, it had turned out, even practically crushing her in her sleep, she just hadn't been ready for _that._

They were well past that now, and he was constantly grateful for it.

He'd continued to accepted his mother's hospitality, even with the stipulations it put in place, for the short stays in Two he and Madge made. Now, though, it just wasn't an option, not for him.

The possibility of not seeing her as much as he had was unacceptable, especially when there was a house as perfect as this just ripe for the picking.

Enormous old trees with limbs heavily laden with lush leaves surrounded it, cut it off from the neighbors for the most part. It was larger, much, much larger, than his family's home back in the Seam had been, but far smaller than the Mayor's house had been. Stone and wood, two story with a wide porch and a sunny patch in the backyard for a garden.

"I can't believe you just bought a house," Vick grunted as he helped pull the carpet out.

"How do you know she'll even want to move up here?" Rory wheezed. "She might turn you down flat. Then what? You're stuck with this stupid house."

Gale just ignored him and the bubble of worry in his stomach. He didn't know what Madge would say about the house. He hoped, _prayed,_ she would see it for what it was: the next step in their relationship, the next step toward what he felt was their future.

He'd just finished stripping the hideous blue floral wallpaper from the master bedroom upstairs, when there was a soft knock on the door. His mother stood smiling in at him from the entrance.

"Brought you something," she held out a little package, a brown paper bag.

Gale took it, opening it and pulling out a small wooden box from the bottom. He opened it to find a small pendant, silver with a tiny stone, shimmering white and no bigger than his smallest finger nail.

He dumps it into his hand and examines it, rolls the smoothness between his fingers.

"It's a pearl," she tells him. "It's been in your father's family for ages. He gave it to me when we got engaged. I thought about pawning it, a few times," she made a pained face. "I just-never could part with it."

Gale felt his mouth droop. She looked disgusted with herself for her one small luxury, her only memento of her long dead husband.

"Mom," he reached out and pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you didn't sell it."

She wouldn't have gotten even a fraction of its worth, monetary or sentimental, if she had. It was so tiny, he thinks she's probably had it with her every day since it was given to her. It's possibly the only thing besides their clothes and Posy's rag doll that survived the trek to District Thirteen, because of its size.

He pulled back. "Why are you giving it to me?"

She plucked it out of his hand and smiled at it.

"You're going to ask Madge to move to two? Move here?"

Gale gave her a cautious nod.

"Move here. Not get married." Not yet anyways.

His mother took his hand, pressed the pendant into his palm. "You love her. You're going to ask her someday, and you're very spontaneous, Gale, I don't want you proposing to the poor girl with nothing at hand."

########################################################

"Gale who are we visiting?"

He'd had to cover her eyes with a strip of cloth; she wouldn't stop peaking from the passenger side seat.

"I'll trip and fall, you know?" She told him, trying to look annoyed as he opened the car door for her, but failing miserably. There was a trace of a smile fighting its way onto her face.

Gale grunted as he picked her up, causing her to squeal. The neighbors are going to think he's some kind of kidnapper. He carries her up the steps and quickly opens the door, depositing her gently onto the wooden floor, her shoes softly clicking as they make contact.

He'd left the windows open, letting in the fresh spring air, warmth, and sunlight. Dust dances in the light, hovering over the bare floor. It smells like fresh paint and cleaning solution.

He unties the cloth and steps back.

Madge's eyes widen as she stares at the room, dumbstruck for an eternity before she speaks. "It's…a house."

"Yeah. Do you like it?"

He sees her ponytail sway as she nods, turns her head and inspects the strange new surroundings.

Gale takes her silence as an opening to explain all the great things about the house.

Running water. That's very important to her.

Heat and air. She hates the cold, but she also loves the air conditioning, so a plus.

She can pick out the furniture, the wall colors, the flooring, he'll even let her get new appliances even though he feels the current ones are more than adequate.

It'll be her home. More a home than her parent's government designed and decorated house back in Twelve had been and more a home than the little apartment she shared in Ten, which actually belonged to her friend.

He might technically own it, but he was giving it to her, if she wanted it. He'd cleaned it out, torn it down, stripped it to its bones so that she could make it her own.

She's very quiet, walks into the kitchen and running a hand over the stone of the counter.

"You…want me to move to Two?"

The uncertainty in her voice makes his stomach drop.

"I…You know about the job." He runs his hand over his face and lets it settle on his neck. "I know it's kind of sudd-"

Gale is nearly knocked off his feet by the force of Madge as she flings her body at him. Her face is pressed into his sternum, her arms locked around his waist. "Yes."

_That was easy._

She looks up at him, a bright smile on her face, "I've been so worried, since you told me they wanted you more permanently in Two. I-I was scared, didn't know what we were going to do." She sniffles, fighting off the shine of tears in her eyes, "I was going to ask you if-if you'd want to move in together, but I was afraid-"

He cuts her off with a hard kiss, then laughs and she presses her ear to his chest. They'd been on the same page at least, he liked it when that happened.

She's started giggling when he dips down and begins kissing her again, first her lips, then peppering her face and neck, working down to her neck…

He's about to lower her to the ground, get the christening underway, when she starts babbling about all the things she needs to do.

"-and how do you feel about sage for the walls? Or maybe taupe-"

Gale covers her mouth with his hand. She could paint the walls fluorescent green for all he cared. As long as she came with them, it didn't matter.

"Don't care," he grunts before heaving her up. Maybe she'd get the right idea if he took her to the bedroom. Not that there was a bed, one more thing she'd get to pick out, but he didn't care much at the moment. He's reasonably certain Rory left a drop cloth in there and that'll do as far as he's concerned.

As he's finally getting her to cooperated, jumping up and wrapping her legs around him once he's up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door behind them before pushing her up against it, he feels his mother's pendant in his pocket.

He doesn't think they're ready for marriage yet, but her reaction and having the little charm at hand makes him a little more certain that's where they're heading.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Nettling**

Madge was already annoyed with him and the day had just begun. He'd talked her into sharing a room with him again, they'd done it on their last few trips, but this time he'd booked one with only a single bed.

"I told them two beds," he explained to her, trying and failing to look innocent.

Madge had crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. After she'd gone to the desk to demand another room, only to find them all occupied, she'd returned and tossed her bags onto the little couch.

Gale grabbed them off and put then next to the bed.

"You take the bed. I messed up, I'll take the couch."

"You won't fit on the couch." He'd end up with a crick in his neck and she wasn't in the mood to rub it out.

Things had gone downhill from there.

When they'd gone to dinner one of the local magistrates took a sudden shine to Madge, talking to her for most of the evening and asking her to dance several times; something that hadn't sat well with Gale when she'd finally accepted one of the offers.

"You really should leave Ten," he'd told her as the evening died. "It's just a dead end for someone with as much promise as you. Your father was a mayor, am I right?"

Madge nodded, backing away from him. He wore too much cologne and ate too much of the seasoned dip, the combination was nauseating to her.

"Perhaps you could join one of the committees? If you wanted a position there are some avenues I could direct you to."

She felt a hand slid around her waist, settle at her hip, and pull her back against something solid.

Gale's hand pressed into her, wrinkling her dress slightly, as he held her to him and glared at the magistrate from over Madge's shoulder. "If she wants on a committee _I_can help her."

The man had nodded, looking a little flustered. His eyes flickered from Gale's hand clutching at Madge, to Madge's fancy dress, then to Gale's irritated glare. "Of course, General. I didn't realize Miss Undersee was, ah, _with_ you."

Madge felt her face heat up. Gale was pressing her into him almost obscenely. Like she was his toy and the man had dared to try and play with her.

He'd rushed off, casting frightened looks at Gale as he did.

"Gale!" She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing his hand from her and backing away.

"He was staring right down your dress!"

"Like _you_ don't stare down girls' dresses all the time," she huffed.

It was a low blow and she knew it. Gale was much less dirty minded since the Rebellion, less inclined, at least since she'd been reacquainted with him, to have wandering eyes and hands than he had when she'd known him before. Still, she wasn't fairly positive the man hadn't been looking, though she wasn't completely certain. Either way, she didn't need a bodyguard. She could take care of herself. She always had, and it nettles her for him to think she couldn't.

"Fine," he growled. "Next time I won't help."

She pressed her fingers to her temple. "It isn't the help-"

"Whatever."

He'd thrown up his hands and stormed off, already a little tipsy, she'd later realize.

She'd gone on a walk around the golf course behind the hotel, over the lighted bridge on the lake on the grounds, then through the garden of prickly plants before heading back in with the plan to shower and go to sleep, hoping for a better tomorrow.

Her feet were halfway through the lobby when she glanced over and saw Gale still sitting at the bar. It was well past midnight and the poor hotel workers, a group of pimply facedt, exhausted looking youths, were eyeing him warily.

"He won't get up," one of them told her when she asked.

"The bar cut him off half an hour ago and he just won't leave."

So, in the interest of saving the staff from the wrath of Gale, Madge had taken up the seat beside him. He was staring at his now empty glass, clutching it in his hands.

"Gale," she whispered, "it's time for bed."

He turned his unfocused gaze to her, trying to steady her in his eyes. "Madge?"

His mouth turned up and he released his glass, reaching out and pulling her to him, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply.

"Are you _smelling_me, Gale?"

"You smell nice."

_He_ smelled like alcohol. Reeked of it. She wondered how many glasses he'd downed before they'd cut him off.

She stood and pulled him from his seat, letting him lean into her.

"Lift your feet," she grunted. He'd gotten heavier since the last time she'd helped him stumble drunkenly anywhere.

His face stayed pressed into her hair, "I was-sh trying to hel-lp you."

She nodded, "I know."

"Why d'you get s-so mad?" His nose pressed into her cheek and his harsh breath filtered past her nose, she cringed.

"I'm not a possession. You can't just scare off anyone I talk to."

He grunted and she sighed. Maybe she'd try to talk to him about it when his hangover abated…in a couple days.

She tugged him toward the buttons for the elevator only to have him make a strangled noise and pull her to the stairwell door.

"We are _not_ taking the stairs." He was nowhere near steady and she wasn't strong enough to lug him up them.

"No elevator."

His eyes flickered over the silver plated doors as the little bell signaled it had reached them before he yanked Madge by the arm through the door to the stairs.

Feet unsteady and painfully off balance, he began climbing the steps, dragging Madge behind him.

"Gale!" It was seven floors up. He was drunk and she was in heels. It was a bad choice in all directions.

"No elevator." He grunted again, giving her a tug up the step.

They'd made it up to the second flight when Madge's right heel slipped. She started to fall, but managed to catch herself on the railing, screaming, hitting her elbow, and guiding herself down in a controlled slide to the landing. She sat, feet still propped on the lowest steps out in front of her, catching her breath and wondering if the hotel had cameras in the stairwell.

Gale must've seen her fall, because before she's even started to get up he's stumbled down to her, dropping to his knees and hovering over her.

"God, Madge, you'v-ve got to be more careful."

She's seconds away from telling him if she hadn't been being dragged by a drunk up seven flights then she _would_ have been careful, when he begins running his hands along her ankles, up to her knees, then grabs her hands.

"What are you doing?"

He reaches over her. "I-uh heard s-something hit."

How he heard that over her yelp she doesn't know. She rubs her sore arm. "It was my elbow."

Gale takes her arms and runs his fingers over the reddened area gently. She hasn't even formed the words 'thank you' when she feels his lips press to it, feather light.

"All better."

Before she can stop herself she grins at him, "I hurt my butt too."

Madge is eternally grateful he's always been a mostly good-natured drunk when he snorts, "Well r-roll ov-er."

She laughs as she looks at the stairs stretching upward. They'll never make it up.

"Gale," she pulls her legs back to her, crosses them, "can we please take the elevator?"

He can't make it up the stairs himself and she really doesn't want to try it again.

A few seconds pass and he stares at her elbow, he's still holding it, rubbing his thumb over the mark. His eyes flicker up the stairs then back to her, softening on her arm, thinking.

"It reminds me of the mines."

_Of course._

Madge feels her mouth go dry. She hadn't even made the connection, probably wouldn't have. The mines hadn't been the looming terror in her life that they had in his.

She scoots closer to him and runs her hands up his arm, "I'm sorry. I didn't even think about that."

"Of cours-se you di-didn't," he snorts.

Her hand yanks back. She should've known better than to offer her poor comfort.

She starts to stand when he pulls her back down and to him. "I d-didn't mean it like it s-s-sounded-d."

They sit on the landing for several minutes, Gale stroking Madge's hair, fingers slowly working the loose waves out. His breathing is a little uneven.

"Every day we got on them. Down. Up. Every day. I'd pray they kept working. I used to wonder what would h-happen if they decided to cut the electricity while we w-were down there. I thought I was going to die down there. Like my d-dad." He sighed, rubbed his free hand over his eyes as he sat back against the wall. "They made all thes-se noises. Always thought the cables-s would sn-snap. And they'd-d jerk, make you feel l-like you w-were gon-na fall."

He stares off, remembering the dark pit he'd been lowered into day in and day out.

Madge wrapped her arms around his waist, awkwardly, and gave him a little squeeze.

She holds him for a few more minutes, waiting for his breathing to steady out, thinking about what she wants to say.

"These aren't elevators to the mines." She cranes her face up to look at him, "I'll be with you. The whole way."

His eyes drift closed and she worries he's passed out. She's begun planning how she's going to get him out and up to their room, when he jerks, lumbering up. He stretches, his dress shirt hikes up a little and she catches a glimpse of the muscles of his stomach before he turns back to her and grabs her hands, hauling her to her feet.

"Let's go to bed."

################################

Gale's eyes flicker from the seam of the doors to the lighted numbers as they wait for the elevator to slide open for them. His hand, fingers laced with Madge's, is clammy.

When the bell chimes and the doors open his face pales.

After a moment's hesitation he nods and walks on, still crushing Madge's hand.

As the doors shut he lets go and curls his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his chest. He toys with her hair as he continues to watch the numbers tick by until they reach their floor. He pulls her, practically picks her up and carries her bodily off, just in case the doors decide to shut or the cables snap.

Her hand wraps in his again and she pulls him to the room, keying in the access number, and leading him in.

"Get ready for bed."

She changes in the bathroom while he drops to the couch and begins trying to take off his boots.

By the time she's put on her pajamas, undone her hair, and brushed her teeth, he's only managed to take off one boot.

"Oh, Gale."

She drops down in front of him and unties his other boot, yanking it off, before helping him unbutton his shirt. He watches her fingers quickly work each one through their hole, then her hands slip under his shirt, over his shoulders, pushing it off.

"You should've l-let me help you get undressed," he mumbles with a smirk.

Madge leans forward and rubs her nose with his, "No, and you're on your own with your pants."

He groans.

She pulls down the sheets, smoothes them, and fluffs the pillows before turning to find him struggling to pull his dress pants off.

"St-stupid mat-erial."

Madge covers her mouth to keep her amusement in. He's going to hurt himself, twisting and fighting on the couch with his pants.

"Stand up," she tells him as she crawls over the bed and jumps in front of him.

She pulls him to standing, notices he hasn't even unbuttoned and unzipped, and shakes her head.

"You're a helpless drunk."

Her fingers quickly unfasten and unzip him before tugging his pants down.

"Sit," she commands, and he complies, falling back to the couch with an amused grin.

With a final tug he's in his boxers and undershirt and she's tumbled back onto the floor. He stares at her, eyes running along the hem of her nightgown and the hints of her sleep pants underneath. Her face warms.

"You must think I'm pretty st-stupid, huh?"

She snorts, "No, those pants really had a strangle hold on you."

His face flickers with annoyance as she gets to her feet. He reaches out and takes her hand.

"I meant ab-bout the elevator."

His hand tightens around hers, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Madge reaches her free hand out, runs it through his hair, smoothing the back.

She can't even imagine what it must've been like, to be lowered into that hellhole day after day. To never know, with any certainty, if he'd come back up, see sunlight and breathe fresh air ever again. To have to go into the same endless misery that had taken his father.

"Never."

He watches her, grey eyes fixed on blue, searching for any hint of insincerity in them.

A little yelp escapes her lips when he suddenly yanks her forward, arms crushing her tightly to him. His face presses into her stomach, she can feel his hot breath through the fabric of her nightgown. It sends goose bumps up her arms and a shiver down her spine.

After a few stunned seconds, her pounding heart and uneven breathing calm slightly, and she manages to wrap her arms lightly around his neck and shoulders where they press into her. He's actually much more manageable at this level. She toys with the ends of his hair that tease at the nape of his neck.

They stay like that for several long minutes before Madge hears Gale softly snoring against her.

When she pulls back, tries to tug him with her to the bed, he blinks blearily up at her, hints of confusion in his drunken eyes.

"No," he shakes his head. "I m-messed up. You get the b-bed."

She crouches down and heaves him up, his shoulder over hers, guiding him to the bed.

"You're too tall for the couch."

"Bu-"

"You-just stay on your side and I'll stay on mine, alright?"

He freezes and looks down at her through his dark lashes, waiting for her to say something else.

"Serious?"

She nods.

His mouth starts to turn up, she can see the little traces of his dimples forming. In one smooth move, much smoother than his drunken state should've allowed, he tosses her to the bed, sliding in after her.

Madge scrambles away, causing him to laugh at her scandalized look.

He's on his stomach, has his pillow tucked under his cheek, arms wrapped around it, as he watches her crawl to the far side of the bed and pull the covers up to her chin. She rolls to her side, back to him. Normally she sleeps on her back or on her other side, but since she doesn't feel like staring at him as she drifts to dream land this is the best decision. She mutters, "'Nite, Gale."

Eyes closed, heavy and burning, she's seconds from sleep, when she feels his calloused fingers in her hair. At first she ignores it, pretends to have already gone to sleep, then he reaches under the blanket and gives her a pinch. She yelps.

"I know you aren't asleep."

Madge rolls over and glares. "How's that?"

He's grinning, like he has some secret. "You breathe different." The grin slips, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry you got hurt."

Gale's fingers reach out and run over her elbow. It's perfectly fine now, she may or may not get a small bruise.

"It's fine." She starts to roll back over, but he stops her.

"What?" It's annoying. She's tired and sore and her eyes burn. He may be drunk and chatty, but she isn't.

"I don't look down girls' dresses."

For a moment she just stares at him. Of all the thing for him to bring up…Madge snorts.

"I know Gale. I'll never besmirch your honor with such slander again."

His eyes narrow, his sluggish mind trying to work through what she's said, then he nods, looking satisfied. "Good."

She thinks that's the end, but his hand stays on her, resting on her elbow, fingers wrapping around it and keeping her from turning her back to him. His eyes drift shut and his breathing slows.

Annoyed as she is that he's clinging to her, but comfortable none the less, Madge closes her eyes.

Her mind tells her to uncurl his fingers from her elbow, but she finds she likes the security it offers. Warm and rough against her cool arm, the weight of it providing something solid for her to hold onto as her other hand sneaks up and comes to a rest on his.

Heavy lids drift shut and she feels the bed shift a little as her mind shudders into sleep. Weighty warmth covers her, wraps around her, and she sighs into it.

Her irritation ebbs. It isn't his fault he's anxious about the elevators, it's something they can work on. She can't make it up the stairs in heels, especially if he makes getting drunk a running occurrence. She sincerely hopes he doesn't though.

It isn't his fault the hotel gave them only one bed, though he'd been talking about sharing for a trip or two now, so she suspects he may have been lying in some way or another about that.

She'll have to work with him over his possessiveness too; she can't function if he doesn't trust her judgement. She's taken care of herself for years; she needs a friend, not a knight…especially not an inebriated one.

Madge sighs again and pulls the solid warmth closer to her.

They'll talk in the morning.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Nettling, pt 2**

Gale didn't understand why she was so defensive.

He'd only been trying to help her, _protect_ her from that filthy lecher. The old man, he was old enough to be her father, had been leering at her, chatting her up all night, slowly wearing her down to a dance. Gale had watched him the whole time, trying to catch the man's eyes and warn him to keep his hands where Gale could see them, to no success. He didn't touch her inappropriately, but he was thinking about it, had the look of a man wanting to make a move, so when he cornered her and Gale saw her step away, _he_made his move.

The bastard had the gall to tell her he would help her get on a committee.

"If she wants on a committee I can help her."

Gale pressed her to him, wrapped an arm protectively around her middle, let the man know Madge wasn't as alone as he thought. He was happy to see the old man pale a little, stumble over himself as he took in the woman he'd thought was such an easy picking and the intimidating man letting him know she was anything but.

"Of course, General. I didn't realize Miss Undersee was, ah, _with_ you."

_Damn right she is._

As soon as the man scurried off Madge rounded on him.

"Gale!"

She looked mortified, her cheeks bright with color though she hadn't had even a sip of alcohol.

"He was staring right down your dress!" He defended himself. How could she possibly be mad? He was helping her!

"Like _you_ don't stare down girls' dresses all the time," she grumbled.

_Do not!_

"Fine," he growled back. "Next time I won't help."

Her fingers began rubbing her temples. "It isn't the help-"

"Whatever."

He didn't care. Let her get rubbed on by those dirty old men she was too polite to tell off. Gale wasn't going to ride to her rescue again.

He threw his hands up and left, concentrating on keeping his already confused feet from tangling with each other. When he turned back he saw her furiously storming out.

She was gone.

######################################

The barkeep had eyed him warily when he asked for the strongest stuff they had and to 'keep it coming'.

"She'll come back," the blond barkeeper told him. He looked annoyingly like one of Mellark's brothers.

With a roll of his eyes, Gale turned his glass up, trying to get the last drops from the bottom. What did he know? Madge was the champion of disappearing, she might be half way back to Ten, Nine, Three, by now, who knew?

She hadn't yelled, but then she rarely did. Her eyes had blazed though. She was more annoyed than he'd seen her since the first Games, when he'd been so awful to her…

"She will," the barkeeper told him again. "You didn't have much to worry about, you know? You're a good looking guy, she was just making nice with the old man."

Gale leveled him in his unsteady gaze. What was he talking about?

The man must have noticed his confusion, was probably use to drunks losing track of their conversations with him, because he smiles.

"You're girlfriend. She was just being nice with that guy. You didn't have to mark your territory, he didn't have a chance."

His sluggish mind slowly processed the lost Mellark's words.

"She isn't my girl-girlf-friend." Gale finally manages to stutter out. "And w-what'd'ya mean 'mark my territory'?"

The man laughs even though Gale doesn't see anything funny about the situation.

"Not your girl, huh? Coulda fooled me." He smirks, "You glared every guy down that came within ten feet of her, looked ready to blow an artery when the old man danced with her, then practically hiked your leg and peed on her when he started putting the moves on."

Gale glared at him.

He had not. He'd only been protecting her, helping her.

Madge was his friend, his good friend, his very pretty friend that was too nice to assholes that didn't know their boundries-

"Oh."

The barkeeper gave him a sympathetic smile. "You didn't know, did you?"

Gale shook his head, a bad move, the room began to swim.

He _liked_ Madge.

Of course, he liked her, she was his friend. He wouldn't have spent time with her, worked with her, gotten her back out into the world if he hadn't.

He knew she was pretty, he'd always known that, had appreciated that she was attractive even back in Twelve when he couldn't stand her. He'd never really minded seeing her, with her pretty dresses and ribbons, wide blue eyes and soft curves.

He'd even developed a little crush on her, a mutual flirtation, for the durations of the Games, something he'd squelched out with each reminder of Katniss and his long standing attraction to her.

During the course of the last year and a half he'd grown more affectionate with her. He would admit it, he liked touching her, keeping her close to him. He'd told himself it was for comfort, she had an aura of calm around her constantly, a well practiced façade from years of being hostess to Capitol idiots. Much as he hated to admit it, he needed that tranquility, he possessed none of it himself.

But he _liked_her. How had that happened?

She traveled with him, helped him to not alienate the morons that permeated the official positions within the government, guided him through the strange new world he was helping to create with her knowledge of the old one. He had the sudden, horrible realization that she was helping him to survive.

He groaned.

The barkeeper chuckled, "She's pretty. She seems to like you, she wouldn't be here otherwise. Why so upset?"

"Because," Gale rubbed his hand over his eyes. This was a disaster.

"Because?"

"Because this happened last time." And it hadn't ended well. He'd fought for Katniss, thought he had the upper hand, might even have had it at some point, but she'd picked Mellark. Maybe because of Gale's bomb, maybe because Mellark was just the better guy, the guy Katniss couldn't survive without.

"Last time?" The barkeeper shrugged, "Well, what's different _this_time? Anything?"

_There's no other guy fighting me for her attention._

Not really, old men didn't count.

He presses his finger to his eyes, racks his brain.

Madge was quiet, like Katniss had been, though for a different reason. Madge's was learned, controlled, while Katniss' had been stunted, born of the trauma of her father's death and her mother's retreating into her own mind.

Katniss had been the figurehead of the Revolution, made television appearances, grand moments of unfiltered _her_ that spurred the country to fight back. Madge was in the background, not among the puppet masters that had so used Katniss, but not quite beyond their control either. Her moments were small, tiny efforts to make even the smallest of differences in the lives of the people immediately around her. Her true self was always filtered and muted, to protect the ungrateful people of the District who would've been so easily squashed by her misbehavior.

They both had shied away from physical affection. Despite all the kissing he and Katniss had done, though, she wasn't as pliant as Madge. Perhaps because Katniss had Prim she hadn't been as starved for attention as Madge had so clearly been. Before her father's death, he'd been a positive force for Katniss, and her mother had been well then. Madge didn't seem to have benefited from that. Her parents seemed to care for her, but her mother was sick and her father busy. She wasn't a push over, their spat over the sleeping situation made that abundantly clear, but she _wanted_the attention so much more than Katniss had.

It made is stomach turn, to realize he'd used her clear need for affection to fulfill his unconscious desire for a physical anchor.

Gale downed another drink. He was too sober for this shit, and he didn't want to be if she didn't come back.

################################

When she turned up next to him, he'd breathed her in, just to make sure she was real. Only Madge smelled like Madge.

He could only remember snatches of the conversation.

"I'm not a possession. You can't just scare off anyone I talk to."

In his drunken state he couldn't process her words as well as he would've liked to, but later he would remember them, try to keep them in mind.

He didn't want to lose her.

Because after several uncounted drinks, before the barkeeper had cut him off, he'd come to the crippling realization that he _needed_ her. Losing her was unthinkable. She'd become the one thing _he_ couldn't survive without.

Vaguely he remembered taking the stairs, a stupid move that had caused Madge to fall, hurt her elbow. Much as he hated the elevator, he would rather brave it than chance knocking her down again.

She'd helped him undress for bed, something he knew most people wouldn't have done, considering his behavior and how much it had upset her. He'd watched her with a grin as she'd unbuttoned and unzipped him, his mind selfishly wondering if he'd ever get the chance to have her help him out of his clothing for a reason other than sleeping.

When she started to pull him to the bed he'd remembered how irritated she'd been and backed away, only to have her tell him to 'just stay on your side and I'll stay on mine'.

Then they'd settled down and she'd turned her back to him. His heart stuttered. He needed to see her, not her back, _her_. So he'd apologized for making her fall, hoping that would keep her facing him. When she started to turn over again he panicked and remembered her comment about looking down girls' dresses.

"I don't look down girls' dresses."

She seemed confused, but was important she know. His mind tells him she needs to know he isn't looking at other girls. Just her. Only her.

Her response is muddled, he tries to think on it, but he's tired and drunk and only can register that it sounded positive, like she believed him, so he nodded. "Good."

There's nothing left for his mind to formulate, he's exhausted, so he keeps his hand on her. He wants to keep her in his vision for as long as he can, in case she's gone in the morning or this is a dream. She's just so pretty, in her nightgown, with her hair down, and her heavy eyes…

#######################################

Gale woke when his pillow gently nudged him off. Normally it didn't; in fact, he didn't remember any of them ever fighting their way from him.

Sleepy and a little annoyed it was messing up the best night of sleep he'd had in ages, he nuzzled deeper into it, clutched it a little tighter to him. It made an uncomfortable noise.

_Why is my pillow so fussy tonight?_

"Gale."

Now it was talking to him. He needed to lay off the drinking.

"Gale." It poked him in the shoulder. "Gale, wake up. I…need to use the bathroom."

He craned his head up, squinted into the dark at his talking pillow, which sounded strangely like Madge.

He could see her blue eyes, flickering with the pale light from the security light outside, wide and watching him. Gale flopped his head back down; he didn't need to know that.

"Then go," he shrugged.

Unless she was going to take a shower and needed help with cleaning some hard to reach places he wasn't venturing in there.

He felt himself being heaved over, albeit gently, then his pillow, soft and warm and sweet smelling, slipped away from him. Groaning, he sat up, blinked groggily, and found Madge straightening her nightgown beside the bed.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she told him again, a little more breathlessly this time.

He nodded, watched her back away, then collapsed back down. His pillow wasn't nearly as comfortable now.

Sitting up again he examined the bed and frowned. He didn't remember much from the night before, but he was certain he'd gone to sleep on the other side of the bed.

It took a minute, but the alcohol had mostly worked its way through his system and he was a little more clear headed as he finally piece together why Madge had felt the need to wake and inform him of her need to use the toilet.

"Shit." He runs his hands through his hair, letting them settle on his neck.

Gale really needed to get a handle on his body.

He considered moving back to his side, but decided against it. She might only not be mad because she thought he was still drunk or too tired to know what he was doing. He was torn between being grateful for her graciousness and annoyed that she still was letting a man throw himself, quite literally, at her and still being too well-mannered to tell him off. Even if that man was him.

Blinking, his mind flickered back to when they arrived, how irritated she'd been about the bed. Then she'd gotten angry about what he now recognized as his _slightly _possessive, _somewhat_ jealous attitude with the old magistrate.

She _had_ told him off. She'd been defensive and stood up to him, even tried to tell him why he'd annoyed her. Albeit in her own, somewhat, he felt, indirect way.

Gale felt a smile slip onto his face

He understood, at least a little, why she was so irritated, so defensive. She didn't need to be rescued.

Madge was a little in need of attention, craved it even, but she wasn't defenseless, he should've remembered that from when she'd punched him. She simply picked her battles more judiciously than he did.

She probably had a better grasp of what was going on than he knew, she was the one teaching him to survive it after all, and that knowledge made him a little easier about her being at the galas and functions.

Madge let him push her boundaries further than anyone else was allowed, but if she wanted to put a stop to it, she would. He could sense that now.

This wouldn't be a repeat of Katniss, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes this time. He and Madge weren't surviving like he and Katniss had, there was no looming threat of death or starvation, no Reaping or Games. They were surviving as people should, he told himself, with the chance of better things ahead, not just a bleak future.

He flopped back down, pulled her pillow to him and inhaled the scent of her hair that still clung to it, proving she was really there. She was just in the bathroom. She would come back.

Not because she was a pushover, too polite to say anything, but because, maybe, probably, he hoped, she _wanted_ to.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Beyond a Lifetime**

When Katy-Jo Lewes had told her about the memorial being built near the stockyards in Ten, Madge had been curious.

It was a garden, filled to the brim with colorful flowers and young trees that she was told would one day grow tall and strong. The cattle cars that had carried the children to the Southern Seat had been dismantled, the sides preserved and erected with the names of the lost Tributes and the handful of Victors carved into them, over the emblems of both District Ten and the Capitol. At the center of the winding path was a field, an area with a clear view of the sky, and at night the constellations.

"We are all like the stars," the Mayor, her golden eyes bright even from the stage, had told them during the dedication, hand sweeping to the darkened heavens. "We may die, we may fade, but we may still guide. Our lost Tributes, our fallen Victors, our passed friends and loved ones, may not be with us, but their light will guide us forward. Even when that light is gone, the memory of it will keep us from ever drifting back to such terrible times."

Gale had tried to look less impressed than he was.

"It's all metaphors and symbolism." He grumbled as he studied the heavy door of an old cattle car, the name 'Tommy Brandsetter' blazoned up it.

"That's all we have sometimes," Madge shrugged. "This District is constantly shifting, moving, they don't get too attached to things, just memories."

It was a District of constant sacrifice for the larger well being, creating memories that haunted them all. The garden was made of those memories, for better or worse. They were embracing them for what they were: lessons in life they needed to take to heart.

"I think more Districts should have memorials to the lost," Madge told Gale as they walked through the dirt streets, back to her apartment.

His mouth turned down, "Why? Just dredge up the past. What good does that do anyone?"

Her arms folded across her stomach protectively. "Our past is important." Her mind flickered to her father, the words he so often told her throughout her life whenever he'd give her a lesson.

"If you don't know your history you keep making the same mistakes."

Gale froze, eyes flickered to her, "Aren't you the one always telling me I need to move on? I can't live in regret."

"Knowing your history and wallowing in it aren't the same thing, Gale."

She takes off again, her pace brisker this time. He jogs and catches up with her, catches her by the elbow.

"Madge," he pulls her to a stop. "I'm sorry. It's just…the past hasn't been all that great to me."

A sigh escapes her lips, her eyes flicker out into the dark, "It hasn't been particularly kind to _any_ of us, Gale."

The past was where her parents were, though. The past, her memories of it, were the only place they still existed. The ghost of her mother's sister, her Poppa, Mrs. Oberst…they were nothing but shadows to the present. Forgotten as insignificant points of light among a brightening morning sky.

Sometimes it felt as though none of them were _worth_ remembering.

Her childhood home, as few truly happy memories as it held, was gone, she'd seen it go up in flames the night of the bombings. Her garden, her room, her back porch…

Often she still thought of herself as nothing but an out of place relic of the past. Someone who didn't belong, who should have died alongside her mother and father, become just another phantom in a painful history lesson.

Gale's mouth droops, his hand comes to a rest on her shoulder, kneading it gently before both his hand are on her cheeks, thumbs sweeping over them. She feels moisture smear under her eyes and realizes she's started crying.

Her head turns quickly and she begins brushing them away. It's stupid to cry over them, it won't do them or her any good.

He grabs her, pulls her to his chest, his calloused hands rubbing circles and tracing patterns on her back, his voice softly murmuring soothing things into her hair. She tries to pull away, but he tightens his hold. Struggling weakly for a few minutes then giving up, Madge wraps her arms around his waist and presses her face into him, inhales the earth and wind that cling to him.

"I know it hasn't." He final says, lips still in her hair.

She can feel his fingers working on her pony tail, pulling the band out so that he can run his finger through her tresses.

Tears fight their way back out the edges of her eyes, trickling out and down her cheeks, soaking Gale's shirt.

He understands…but he doesn't.

He still has his mother, his brothers, his sister, even Katniss and her mother, despite the rift between them, are still solid and real. There's nothing left of her family. Not a single tangible bit of proof that either one of them ever existed, that her aunt, the dead girl that had haunted Madge despite her short, tragic life, had contributed to the Rebellion with her little trinket.

They might not have existed, none of them. Not even Madge herself, except in the flawed memories of the dispersed population of Twelve.

"There's nothing of them. Not a garden or a plaque, not a stone…"

It's ridiculous, none of those things would change their being gone, but having something, somewhere she could go, know existed, where her past wasn't just a fading memory would've eased her aching heart some.

"The whole cemetery is gone," he finally breathes out. "Everyone that ever died there is just…"

Gone.

Madge suddenly feels a little selfish, only thinking of her missing family. Gale, Katniss, Peeta, everyone who'd lived and died in Twelve were without a place to remember their families.

She peers up at him, through her wet lashes, ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry, Gale, I'm-I wasn't thinking. Your dad-"

He pulls back and frowns before dipping down and silencing her with a fierce kiss, picking her up onto her toes, crushing her to him.

They're both breathless when he lets go, pressing his forehead to hers. "I didn't mean it like that."

She nods, hating herself for always assuming he's trying to start something. He seems to sense her irritation with herself and crushes her to him again, resting his cheek against her hair, taking a deep breath.

"I wish there were a memorial, something, for Twelve, too." He sighs, "There just isn't any interest in it. No one goes there and almost no one has gone back. It was hell getting them to even put a hovercraft port there."

It had been considered a waste of money. Just like any memorial would be.

She sighs into him, wishing she were more, wishing she had some power to create something to remind the people of the new country what the little coal mining district had sacrificed for them.

#########################################

When they got to the apartment Madge's roommate was already running out, hastily telling her goodbye. Her latest boyfriend was taking her to the coast and they were leaving early to reach it by morning, giving Madge and Gale rule over the apartment.

Gale found some wine in the fridge. He smirked, hawthorn and strawberry, already opened, but with only a few sips gone.

Madge didn't drink, but she was emotionally exhausted and keyed up, and though she'd never admit it, the memorial had been a strain on her. It bothered her, and that bothered him. He so rarely felt as though he had anything to offer her when she wasn't feeling her best, a few sips might do her some good. Besides, how could she turn down such a combination?

He pours some into a couple of mugs, 'Crazy-Jo Loon' had apparently still not bought any proper cups, and carries them into Madge's room. She's in the bathroom, brushing out her hair, damp from the shower. He feels an inkling of annoyance, she should've waited for him.

They could've saved some water.

Gale watches her for a minute, her neck sways over as she picks out a tangle he'd most likely caused.

He whistles, holding the mugs up.

She comes out, starts to pull her hair up, but he stops her. "I'm just going to take it out."

Her eyes roll, "I know, but it's cold."

He pushes the mug into her hand, "This'll warm you up."

Taking it, she sniffs, mouth turning down, "What is it?"

"Wine."

It's back in his hand. "I don't drink, Gale."

He sighs and sits it on the bedside table before collapsing onto the bed. It's her choice. He takes a long drink of his own. Wine doesn't do much for him, but he won't turn it down.

Madge sits beside him, a little hesitantly, eyeing his cup. She isn't a fan of drinking. He supposes it reminds her of Haymitch, a dependency, even though Gale is far from being a slovenly alcoholic like the crazy old Victor.

After a minute Gale reaches out and runs his hand through her hair, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers, and she relaxes slightly.

He sits back on the bed, reclining onto the mass of pillows, pulling her with him and onto his lap, causing her to squeak. His lips press to her neck, then up to the little patch of skin behind her ear as one of his hands snakes its way under her nightgown.

For once, he really isn't trying anything, just enjoys the feeling of her skin against his. His fingers begin tracing circles on her stomach, then absently letters, his name, though he doubts she realizes it.

"What's wrong?"

He feels her shoulders jerk, just a little, and he sighs.

It irritated him when she did that, shrugged off his concern for her. For some reason she didn't think her troubles were worth dealing with, would bottle them up like she had learned to do so long ago.

He wasn't sure if it was a desire, unconscious or not, to avoid adding to his worries or simple disregard for her own worth that made her do it.

He pinches her side, "No, talk."

She rolls over, eyes downcast, then shifts up, begins kissing him, her fingers sneaking up and starting on the buttons of his shirt. It's off and her delicate and cool fingers have begun on his pants when he realizes what she's doing.

"Don't change the subject," he growls into her mouth. She was playing dirty, using his own tricks against him.

With a grunt he rolls over, pinning her under him and grabbing her hands.

"Madge," he frowns.

She brings her legs up and wraps them around his middle, pulls him down and crushes him to her. He can feel the moisture from her shower still clinging to her, permeating through her nightgown.

_Not fair._

"I'm serious." He releases her hands, begins stroking her hair again. "Please talk."

Madge's mouth straightens then she bites her lip, looking away. "It's nothing."

"It's not 'nothing'." He nuzzles into her cheek. "I know the memorial thing bothers you, it bothers me too, but there isn't anything-"

"There could be," she flickers her eyes up. "Maybe we could get donations, get help to do _something._"

Gale had dealt with many of the survivors from Twelve, been a leader of sorts for them, before and after the Rebellion, helped many with the relocation, and none had been as troubled about the lack of recognition their District got as Madge was. District Twelve was nothing but bad memories and death. It was a little upsetting to him, the cemetery being gone, his father's stone bombed to dust, but it was nothing to what Madge seemed to be experiencing.

"How can people just forget them?" She whispers, more to herself than to him.

It finally strikes him how much things have really changed for her.

Madge had been _someone_, a daughter, the child of a politician. She'd been visible in the District, highly regarded and deeply reviled, whether she deserved it or not, and now she was noticed only occasionally, when she was at galas with Gale. Though he didn't think she missed the attention, in fact she often teased him for how he often had to deal with the fools from the press corps; it had to be a shock to her system, to go from someone of importance to what she must have viewed as no one.

Madge, he realized, was unsure of her own importance in the world.

He doubted she even recognizes for herself what exactly is bothering her. Genuinely, she probably is upset about lack of acknowledgment for everyone and everything sacrificed by Twelve.

Alive or dead, Madge would be less than a footnote when the history books were written. Despite her position as the Mayor's daughter, a supposedly elevated station in life, she and her parents warranted no remembrance.

Gale, though he had been born into nothing, a former miner and a poacher, a convicted criminal in the eyes of the law, was an entire book to himself.

She and everything she'd know had been tossed aside by the new government, something it was prone to do, he'd noticed.

Katniss and Peeta Mellark had been shuttled off, quietly tucked away from the public eye in Twelve, despite being the driving forces, the spark for the Rebellion. They were only referred to in the past tense, never recognized for the broken messes they'd been turned into.

Madge may not have been used in the same way, by the same government, but she'd suffered. She'd been ostracized because of her position, insulted by the people her father had insisted she help protect with her subservience. She'd been lost, left to burn, no attempts to find her had been made.

Despite all the good she, and her father, had done, had tried to do, they were forgotten.

_She_was forgotten.

Gale pressed a kiss into her cheek, trying to think of what to say. Despite her quiet nature, words were Madge's strong suit, not his.

"They aren't," he tells her.

_You aren't._

She may not make the history books, may be just a passing line or a cut character in the greater story of the Rebellion, she was going to be a major part of his story, as long as she wanted to be.

He rolls off her, his hand back on her stomach, tracing his name again.

"Maybe," he focuses on the softness of her skin, thinking through his words carefully, "maybe I can, I don't know, write to Paylor, ask her about getting a grant, rebuild the cemetery."

It isn't much, but it's something.

The room is silent, he keeps his eyes on her stomach, fingertips just finishing crossing the 't' on 'Hawthorne' when she grabs his hand. She takes it up to her face, kisses his palm.

"You would do that?" A little crease forms between her eyes. "For me?"

It's a little worrisome to him, that even after all this time she still doesn't know, he would do anything for her. She was ridiculous, not realizing that he loved her enough to ensure that she knew how important she was, maybe not to the world, but to him.

"Madge," he sighed. If she wanted him to call Paylor that minute, he would. "You

_know_ I would."

She blinks, her eyes shimmering with tears he knows she doesn't want to fall. Swallowing thickly, she lets a small smile creep onto her face.

"I think the cemetery would be nice." She nods.

Twelve didn't need a garden or some fancy memorial. They weren't the future, they were the past, but they need to be remembered. They needed to remind those to come what could happen, what could be lost.

"I'll call her in the morning," he tells her. "See what we can do. But don't get your hopes up."

His position didn't promise them anything.

Madge props herself up on her elbows, her smile widens, "How can she turn down a request from the illustrious _General Gale Hawthorne_?"

His eyes flicker upward, "Very easily, I think."

She lean up, presses a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you."

Gale's hand trails down her chest, back to her stomach then under her nightgown, already bunched up under her breasts. "I'm making a request of the President. I think I deserve more of a 'thank you' than a kiss."

Her eyebrows rise innocently, "Do you want me to go make some candy? I can use Katy-Jo Lewes' wine to make somet-"

He throws his leg back over her middle, straddling her, covering her mouth with his hand, "Using up the only alcohol in this place isn't exactly a 'thank you'."

Madge is grinning when she pulls his hand down, "Oh? What can I do then?"

A little yelp of surprise erupts out of her when he sits back, pulling her up. He jumps from the bed and throws her over his shoulder, carrying her toward the bathroom.

"Gale, what are you doing?"

She tries to sound annoyed, but she's laughing.

"Going to take a shower."

"I just took a shower."

He jostles her a little, flips her down into his arms, "You're going to thank me properly. I have some very dirty places that need some special attention."

She snorts, "I'll bet you do."

There's no guarantee Gale will get anywhere with the request, but there's always the chance.

Just knowing he still remembers everything she's given up, that he's willing to try to give her something, however unlikely, to cement those sacrifices into the collective memory of the nation, might be enough. He doesn't want it to be, he wants to give her whatever she wants, if he can. For the first time in his life he _has _something to offer her, and he'll be dammed if he misses the opportunity.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine

A/N: Just wanted to say thank you to everyone that's reading these stories and two thank yous to everyone reviewing, reading them really brightens my day.

**Sweet Dreams**

Gale, Madge found out, had nightmares.

When they first shared a room she'd noticed them. She would hear him occasionally whimper in his sleep or wake to find him sitting up, staring out the window. Sometimes with a bottle of a strong liquor in hand.

"Can't sleep," had been the only thing she'd ever gotten him to tell her.

She had been too afraid to ask, too uncertain of herself and their relationship to bring whatever demons haunted his mind in the darkest part of the night out to talk.

The more time they spent together, though, the less often she found him awake in the middle of the night.

When they started sharing the bed, he started sleeping with her crushed to him like raft in the sea, they diminished even further. Aside from a soft snore, he barely made a noise. Other than to pull her closer, his wandering hands finding their way under her gown, he wasn't all that restless.

They still occurred, she still caught him up in the middle of the night, having startled himself awake, but instead of getting up and pacing the floor, drinking, he simply stayed in bed, focused on the rhythm of her breathing and the sound of her heartbeat, steady and strong, in his ear.

Slowly, as they spent days, weeks together, she would find them vanish almost completely.

Then they would part, her back to her apartment in Ten, to her job with Katy-Jo Lewes, and Gale back to Two, or on a job for the military, and he would start to regress.

He would call her, in the middle of the night, on the ancient phone, just to hear her voice.

"Please. Talk to me."

Madge could hear the desperation in his voice each time he did it.

"About what?" It scared her, hearing him so terrified, his voice breaking.

"It doesn't matter." His voice was low, she would often worry he'd been drinking. "Please, just talk."

So she did. How her day went, what she and Katy-Jo Lewes had planned, the trivialities of her life…

She told him about making candy with her Poppa, hiding under her father's desk at the Justice Building when she was very small, her mother on her good days, Mr. Abernathy playing tea party with her…

"Haymitch Abernathy had a tea party with you?"

Madge could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"Several times. He's very fond of me."

Gale chuckled weakly, "You're the only one."

It went on for years, Gale using the gentle timbre of Madge's voice to calm his nerves. Different stories each call until she heard his breathing slow on the other end or the phone drop to the floor or the bed.

"Sweet dreams, Gale."

Finally, after they'd gotten together, after years of watching him shudder in his sleep or come back to her with dark circles under his eyes, Madge woke to find Gale, clinging to her. His nails, though short, were digging into the skin of her hips where his arms wrapped around her back to them. His face was taught, eyes clenched shut, tears were forcing themselves out the corners.

"Gale." She whispers harshly. "Please, Gale."

When she couldn't stand it any longer, she pinched his shoulder.

He shot up, panic in his stormy eyes, breathing erratically as he surveyed the room.

"Madge?" He looks down at her. "What happened?"

She pushes her gown down, hiding the red marks from his fingers. "You were having a nightmare."

He nods, runs his hand over his face, giving her an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."

With a grunt, Madge heaves herself up, back against the headboard of the bed. She motions for him to come to her. He crawls up the short distance, she almost laughs. He reminds her of a child joining its parents in bed. Unlike a child, though, he collapses between her legs, his face nuzzling into her breasts. He finally settles, his ear to her heart, eyes closing.

"What was it about?" She'd never seen one this bad.

She feels him shrug against her. "I don't remember."

Her fingers begin working through his hair. "No. Please, Gale, tell me."

Madge pushes him back a little, makes him look her in the eyes. His eyes flicker across the room, out the window. She's losing him.

"Gale," she catches his jaw between her hands, leaning forward and giving him a hard kiss before pressing her forehead to his. "I love you. Please tell me."

She's let him go on like this for too long and she suddenly hates herself for it. If only she'd been a little more certain.

He stares at her, his eyes dark and intense. She's certain he isn't going to tell her, and her heart falters just a little.

Then he sits back, pulls her into his lap, cradling her to his chest.

"This time?" She feels him exhale. His breath ruffles her hair.

"Talk to me," she tilts her head back, looks at his tired expression. "Please."

And, for the first time, he does.

Sometimes they're about the mines and District Twelve. His dad dying in them, Gale being in them, Rory taking out tesserae, starving, Thread, sirens going off…

"It's stupid, I know. The mines are long gone, but those are the old dream and they still hit me sometimes."

Then there was the night of the bombing.

"I see my house go up." He tightens his grip on her, "Your house burn…you die."

She starts to tell him it's okay, she still has nightmares about the bombings, but that isn't true. Since she's had Gale in her life, she doesn't remember any.

"Sometimes it's the Nut. Sometimes it's Prim, those kids."

He takes a deep breath, "And sometimes I'm back in the Capitol with the 'Star Squad', Finnick dies, Peeta goes off, Kat-" He catches himself. Warily he casts his eyes down, uncertain if Madge is ready to hear the name of the girl she'd thought herself so inferior to.

Carefully, Madge pushes his chin up, meeting his eyes, "What happens to Katniss?"

Gale looks back out the window, "You know what happened to Katniss."

Madge feels tears well up in her eyes when it hits her. Gale's nightmares aren't nightmares at all. They're just his memories.

His hand comes to her face, she feels it smear warm tears across her cheek. He murmurs, "Don't cry."

Then he kisses her, again and again. Down her neck, to her chest, before she can stop him he's tugging her gown up, then he stops.

"Madge…"

She looks up at him, he'd put her back on the bed at some point, he's sitting back on his feet a look of disgust on his face. She frowns, not really sure what's the matter. Then his rough fingertips ghost over her hips.

_Oh._

It's still reddened where his fingers had pressed into her, the marks from his nails are still painfully visible.

"I'm so sorry." His eyes stay focused on the marks, Madge can see the devastation eating him up.

She pushes herself up, catching him around the neck, and pulling him back down with her.

"I'm fine." She kisses him, her hands running through his hair.

"I hurt you," he whispers against her neck.

"I forgive you."

He buries his face against her neck, shaking his head. She feels moisture roll between his face and her skin, down her back. He's crying.

"I was dreaming about the bombing." She feels his chest shudder against her. "Madge, I didn't come back for you."

_Oh, Gale._

She knew that. Madge had run off after making sure the evacuation was going smoothly, she'd gone to try and get the Town people out, get her mother, the housekeeper and her family, get them out. She'd failed, though, watched the first of the bombs hit her home, then collapsed down as the fire fell from the sky.

If she hadn't been swept up on the back of the riders from Ten's horses, she would have died.

"Gale, you did exactly what you were supposed to do." She reassures him softly. "You weren't supposed to come back for me."

If he had, Gale would be dead.

That, Madge, realized, would be her nightmare.

He pulls back, his eyes are bloodshot, "I'm sorry, Madge. I-"

She covers his mouth with her hand, gives him a faint smile, "I'm fine."

Better than fine. She was with Gale.

"You don't need it, but I forgive you."

Maybe he needs to hear it, just to calm his mind, let it know that she doesn't blame him for the course their lives took.

Things had worked out just as they needed to. They were both there, both a little broken, but they fit together. Better than they would have whole, Madge is certain of it.

She cranes her neck, brushes her lips across his jaw, rough with dark stubble, and smiles.

He still looks wary, eyes watery and pink, but a small smile creeps up his lips anyway.

She pulls him down, against her. "Let's get some sleep."

Gale sighs, relaxing a little as Madge runs her hands along his back. He presses a kiss to her chest, "Sweet dreams, Madge."

They can talk in the morning, and she'll make sure he knows she could never blame him for how things had gone. His presence kept her nightmares away, and she would find a way to keep his away, somehow.

For now, she'll just hold him. Madge kisses the top of his head, "Sweet dreams, Gale."


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Fairy Tales and Happy Endings**

Madge's mother had read her fairy tales when she was very small. They were filled with true loves, brave princes, damsels in distress, and wonderful, loving kisses that could wake sleeping beauties, turn frogs to handsome princes, and keep mermaids on land.

"And they lived happily ever after, love," she would tell her in her always airy voice. True love solved every dilemma, in her mother's versions, there were no problems after the story ended.

Madge loved those stories, but she was a practical child. She lived in a world filled with death and suffering, princes and kisses would do very little to solve the problems of her world.

Her father had told her fairy tales too, but they were less fanciful. Those sleeping princesses could wake without kisses, frogs were changed by being thrown against walls, and mermaids turned to foam in the sea.

It was better to save yourself in those stories. Other people only caused you pain, or were pretty useless.

True love didn't matter and happy endings were in the perspective.

Her mother's versions were the stuff of dreams, foreign fantasies beyond her grasp, and her father's the workings of a grim imagination, but so much more relatable.

Madge was no princess, and if she were she's certain she'd have been the one just unlucky enough to choke on an apple. There were no princes waiting in the wings for her, no knights to fight a dragon and saver her, no curse to be broken or not, no 'happily ever after' in her future.

She was certain of that.

Then the Rebellion happened and that certainty became absolute.

She was battered and useless. No longer a daughter of privilege in the new world, no longer anyone of importance. No longer worth saving.

During long nights she would read through what few library books she could find, remember the happy endings her mother was so fond of. Madge needed the distraction, the blissful impracticality of her mother's stories over her father's, to ease the chill from her soul, make the loneliness of her new life a little more bearable.

It was silly to imagine true love and true love's kiss healing all, but god she wished it were that simple.

When Gale stumbled back into her life, she remembered those stories, wished she were simply a lost princess for him to save. He would scale a tower, fight her demons, kiss her senseless, and they would ride off into the sunset. Happily ever after.

Her life was no fairy tale,though, she was no princess, and she wasn't getting her white knight. She was a fable about appreciating what you had, accepting people's faults, planning ahead. She was a tragedy, a privileged girl who lost everything, a wanderer without a home, the last of a lost class.

She was convinced he didn't even care for her beyond a friend, his heart, his true love, belonged to a girl who was so much more than Madge could ever hope to be. A girl who didn't need to be saved.

So Madge worked to save herself, not to be like Katniss, but to be like the heroines in her father's stories. She wouldn't depend on others, lean on them, they'd only hurt and disappoint her.

Gale belong in another girl's story, she knew that down to her very core. Even if he'd lost out to another prince, a knight in shinier armor on a whiter horse, his true love still rested with her.

As much as she wanted him to love her, she knew he couldn't. She was just a secondary character in his story, a decoy to his tragic love, and she wanted no part in that. No one would chose her when they'd had Katniss in their life. No one would chose her if they had any option in their life.

Then Gale kissed _her,_ said he loved _her_, chose _her._

It wasn't something out of her mother's stories, not by a long shot. He wasn't suave during it, didn't sweep her off her feet, and she didn't let him.

Gale said he did, though, and he sounded so sincere as he breathe 'I love you' against her skin, as if he believed it himself, and Madge wanted to believe it too. She wanted to believe it so badly.

He made her believe it.

Gale held her and kissed her and carried her along with him.

It wasn't perfect, though.

They fought still, had misunderstandings. More than a few times she worried he would give up on her, realize she was too much of a mess for him to want to deal with.

Every time she irritated him with her insecurities or her inabilities she just knew he'd see her for what she was: nothing but a broken little rich girl.

Especially when she did something _so_ stupid.

Madge fought back tears, "I'm sorry."

She'd burned their dinner, for the millionth time. The first few times she'd laughed it off, but she should've had it figured out by now and it frustrated her she hadn't. Meat was just not something she was meant to cook it seemed.

"No," Gale pressed a kiss to her temple. "Don't be sorry. There isn't any reason to be sorry. I'm sure it'll be fine."

He took a bite of the charred remains of what had once been a beautiful steak. It cracked painfully between his teeth. He tried to smile, it came across as a grimace though.

"It's, uh, just a little crispy. Not as much as last time though."

"I _ruined_it."

She was a dreadful girlfriend. She couldn't even broil a simple steak. He'd given her step by step instructions and she still hadn't been able to accomplish what he'd assured her was such a simple task.

A shuddering breath shook her.

"Well," he pulled her to him, wrapping her in his warm arms, "it's a good thing I'm not with you for your culinary skills then."

She bit her lip. How could he be so unaffected by this? She'd wasted food. It was a sin in Gale's book. He'd grown up so poor, constantly on the brink of starvation, how could her stupidity not make him want to yell at her? Curse her for being such a careless child of privilege?

A few tears slipped out, down her cheeks and soaking his shirt.

She sniffled. "Why aren't you mad?"

His chest rumbled against her, his deep chuckle vibrating between them. "You didn't mean to burn it, Madge."

"That shouldn't matter." She tried to pull away, she needed to clean up her disaster.

"Why shouldn't it?"

He tangles his fingers in her hair, nestling his nose into her scalp, refusing to let her go.

"Because…" She nearly stops herself, but lets the words spill out anyway. "I keep doing it…and it never mattered before."

When they'd been younger, when she'd still been the Mayor's daughter and he'd been just a miner's son. Her efforts had always merited his scorn then. No matter how well she'd meant, all her tries, her attempts, were met with dark looks and hurtful words. This was no different, just one more of her failed attempt to be useful.

His fingers still, she can almost see him closing his eyes in frustration. She tenses, prepares for the fight.

When he speaks his voice is a little harsh. "Don't hold my mistakes against me."

Madge jerks back, brushing a few wayward tears from her cheeks, nodding. She doesn't _want_him go to be mad at her, but she feels she deserves it. She _knows_ she deserves it.

Gale lets out a long breath, begins twirling a strand of her hair around his index finger.

"We aren't where we were. We aren't _who_ we were." He takes her face between his hands, cupping it and brushing a few more traitorous tears from below her eyes.

She knows that. She's faced with her new reality every time she looked in the mirror. Every time she tries to do something she was never prepared to do in her former life. Domestic skills weren't of any importance to a girl whose life would be consumed, undoubtedly, with playing hostess, smiling and making small talk, with Capitol officials.

She isn't who she was or where she was, but she still wasn't quite prepared for who she was going to be, who she'd have to be, and it was wearing sometimes.

"I'm just such a mess," she mutters, casting her eyes down, focusing on the collar of his shirt, the tiny scar on his neck.

A little smile flickers on his face, "I'm a mess too, you know."

A tiny snort erupts from her lips.

As much as she was never prepared to be a regular girl, domestic, Gale was just as unprepared to be at the forefront of a new government. He'd been taught throughout school he was never meant to be more than a lowly miner, a cog in the machine.

Now he was often the face on the television, though they'd long since realized making speeches wasn't something he should be doing, even with meticulous scripting. He still made the background more often than not. He was camera ready as they came, even if they didn't want him talking. He was too handsome to waste.

They'd switched places somewhere along the way.

Now they needed one another to soften the confusion, to guide the other through the things they were never designed to do, but were having to anyway.

Madge nods, leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. "Thank you."

She hated it, but she needed the reminder that they were both a little lost in the world every now and then. She accepted his failings as much as he accepted hers.

He dipped back in, trying to make more of it than she'd been prepared for it to be.

"Gale!" She giggled as he nipped at her neck. "We still need to eat."

He signed, "Just eat the jerky."

She huffed and he pulled back, a devious look in his eyes.

"Fine, Posy and my mother said there was this place near the school that has pasta. I provide the dinner and you" a smirk grew on his lips as he trailed his eyes up her body, "pony up dessert."

Madge gave him a light little punch in the shoulder, trying not to smile, sniffling the last of her tears away.

"You are a pervert."

"Maybe, but I'm _your_ pervert."

"Yes", she linked her arm through his tugging him toward the front of the house, away from the smell of burnt meat, "you are, aren't you?"

He was no knight, no prince, and she was no princess, but maybe both her parents' fairy tales held a little bit of truth within their fantasy.

They both had demons to fight, and they'd battle them together. Saving herself wasn't the only option. She and Gale could,_would_, save each other. From the world and from themselves.

Their happily ever after wasn't perfect, there were still hurdles to jump with their less than white horse, some of their own making, but they _were_ happy. True love's kiss didn't solve all their problems, but it certainly made them easier to work through.

True love _did_ matter and happy endings existed, even if it took some perspective.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Heat **

It's sultry hot, Madge can't even muster the energy to get up from where she's collapsed out on the back porch, sweating buckets. The bugs are the only living things making any noise with their incessant buzzing.

She hears heavy steps coming up the steps.

_Sunday_she thinks lazily. Katniss must be there with strawberries for Madge's dad.

She opens an eye drowsily, expecting to see Katniss' somber face, only to find the scowling visage of her companion.

Madge shoots up in a panic, crossing her arms over her chest protectively, she hadn't expected him to come up on the porch, didn't bother with a bra. Normally, Gale stayed back, hung out on the lawn under the tree. She quickly glanced around him.

"Where's Katniss?"

His expression didn't even flicker. "Sick."

"With what?" She hopes it isn't too bad. There'd been a stomach bug running the course through the school just the week before they were let out.

Gale shrugs, holds out a little collection of strawberries.

Madge fights the urge to roll her eyes. Couldn't he even make polite conversation?

"I haven't got all day."

Apparently not.

Sighing, she pushes herself up and stumbles to her feet. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she brushes past him, into the house. He waits outside the door as she stands on her tip toes to reach the coins kept on the top of the icebox to pay for the illegal strawberries.

Her hand finds them, pulls too many out, then she marches back to the door, ready to be rid of her grumpy guest. She drops the coins into his open hand and grabs the strawberries as he turns and leaves without a word of goodbye.

"Nice talking to you," Madge mutters to herself as she watches him go.

He was nice to look at, but he had all the charm of a lump of coal.

She tosses the berries into the sink and heads back to the porch. Just as she's decided to flop down in the swing, she hears the unmistakable sound of loud male voices.

Curious, she creeps around the house, to the side Gale had disappeared to just minutes before, then up to the far corner. Squinting through the shrubs, she sees a group of white uniforms, Peacekeepers, new recruits, fresh from District Two and eager to prove themselves, something hard to do in Twelve.

They're circled around their catch, like vicious animals ready to devour their prey.

Knowing there's little she can do, but wanting to do something anyway, Madge plucks up her courage and steps out of the bushes, rushing over to whatever poor soul the men have cornered.

They don't even notice her until she's behind them, clearing her throat.

"May I ask what's going on here?"

The tallest, probably the leader of the little band, turns to her, eyes her up and down, grinning.

"None of your business."

Madge narrows her eyes, "I'm the Mayor's daughter and you're in my front yard. It's my father's business and if you don't tell me I'll go get him."

She would too. Her chin rises defiantly.

He sneers. "Fine." He reaches and pulls their catch forward, "Caught a poacher."

Gale, jaw set and eyes focusing on the ground, stands tall in front of her. His hair is a little mussed and his shirt more wrinkled, but he isn't bleeding, so they hadn't done their worst. Not yet anyway.

Madge thinks quickly.

"What makes you think he's a poacher?"

She already knows the answer, she'd seen the game bag on his side, which was now clutched in the hand of a pimply faced boy to Gale's left.

"He's got a bag of animals." The tall Peacekeeper tells her, mouth still turned up in a cold smile. "Caught him red handed with Capitol property."

Madge rolls her eyes and snatches the bag from the boy, opening it and looking inside.

"Vermin." She closes it and shakes her head, fighting off a gag at the sight of dead rabbits and squirrels. "I see nothing but vermin."

The Peacekeeper tries to take the bag back, but Madge quickly puts it behind her back.

"These rabbits were eating my garden and the squirrels were in our attic. Gale," she motions to him, "was kind enough to get rid of them for me. He isn't a poacher, he's an exterminator." She crosses her arms over her chest, hiding a flinch as the bag knocks against her side. "I told him to get rid of the awful things because I didn't want them in our yard, even dead."

The Peacekeepers exchange quiet looks of confusion, not sure if they should believe her.

Madge straightens her stance, narrows her eyes, challenging them to doubt her. Finally, they seem to decide there's enough plausibility to her story for it to be true, give Gale a little shove, knocking him into her and nearly causing her to drop his bag.

His hands catch on her shoulders and the perspiration that had soaked through his shirt wets the end of her nose when it bumps into his chest.

She jumps back and gives the Peacekeepers, already skulking off, a flat look.

Once they're gone she looks back to Gale and hands him his bag. "Here. There are new Peacekeepers, they'll be pains for a while, so be careful."

He doesn't say anything, just stares at her.

"Um, okay, well, 'bye."

She starts off, ready to resume her lazy day, when she hears his voice.

"Thanks."

It takes a second, but she turns around. It's the nicest thing he's ever said to her and she can't keep herself from seeing what a thankful Gale Hawthorne looks like.

"You're welcome."

She turns again, but he stops her.

"Hey, Undersee."

Madge turns back, uncertain what more he could possibly want to say to her. They were ending on such a high note.

"You should, uh," he smirks, waving his free hand at her chest, "probably start wearing a bra."

Her arms immediately cross over her chest, she'd completely forgotten. Face burning, but not from the blazing summer sun, she nods.

"Thanks."

He looks ready to burst into laughter. "You're welcome."

When she gets back to her porch she's sweating buckets, but it's no longer from the heat.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Heat, pt 2**

Gale could feel the sweat dripping from the back of his too long hair, down his neck, soaking his shirt uncomfortably as he walked down the road.

He shouldn't even be out. His catch the day before, even without Katniss, had been plenty for a few more meals and he'd made enough off his sales to buy his brothers and sister some ice cream.

His mistake had been recounting his near arrest by the excitable new Peacekeepers to his mother. It had all gone well until he mentioned Undersee's near transparent shirt.

"She went red as those strawberries when I told her."

His mother had frowned at his laughter.

"Gale, honey, why would you embarrass the poor girl when she'd just helped you?"

At the time it had just been to see a look on her face that wasn't forced or annoyed, but now he wasn't so sure. He shrugged.

His mother's disappointment in him was so heavy that he'd gotten up early and headed out to the meadow, picked several dozen of the brightest flowers he could find, and wrapped them in twine. It's what his father had done when he was apologizing to his mother. If it worked with a full sized woman surely it would work on Undersee? Thirteen year old girls were closer to being grown women than children he supposed.

He was sopping wet with sweat and a little bit of anxiety, though he wasn't sure why, when he finally reached the back gate of the Mayor's house. Taking a breath, he jumped the fence and jogged up to the back door.

After he knocked he began praying the Mayor didn't answer the door, Gale would look a little stupid standing there with a bunch of flowers if he did.

To his great relief, an old woman, probably the housekeeper, opened the door. Gale didn't even get a word out, ask if Madge was home, when she eyed him up and down with great disgust.

"She would attract filth, wouldn't she?"

Before can say anything in his own defense, she turns and yells.

"Girl! Get down here! You have a boy at the door!"

She slams the door in his face, which he takes to mean 'wait here a minute', and stomps off. A few minutes later, the door cracks open and a pair of bleary pale blue eyes peak out at him. They widen in surprise, as though she'd thought the old woman was lying to her. She opens the door wider.

Undersee is in her nightgown, but she had the good sense to put on a robe to answer the door. Still, her arms cross over her chest protectively.

"Can I help you?"

She's all professional, just like she'd been with the Peacekeepers the day before. Her little jaw is set and her eyes are serious, focused. Some of her bravado is lost, though, when Gale looks at her magnificent bed head.

He starts to tell her 'nice hair', but catches himself, he's already looked at her boobs, however accidental, he doesn't need to add insulting her hair to his list of crimes.

Gale thrusts the flowers out to her. "Here."

She stares at them dumbly so he gives them a little shake.

Her lip puckers in a frown. "What's this?"

His eyebrows rise. "Flowers." Hasn't she ever seen a bouquet before?

Undersee huffs, "I can see that."

_Well then why did you ask?_

"Why are you giving me flowers?" She narrows her eyes in suspicion.

Gale run his hand over his face, through his soaking hair, letting it come to a rest on his neck, "'Cause you helped me out yesterday, with those Peacekeepers."

She _had _been pretty brilliant. He wouldn't even deny that. It wouldn't have occurred to him to say what she had.

"You're not too stupid, Undersee." He grits his teeth, "And I'm sorry I looks at your boobs."

Even though that really wasn't his fault, and, actually, she should thank him for warning her. There are a lot of creeps out there.

Her mouth twitches, she's fighting off a smile. Her hand reaches out and takes the flowers from him, her fingers are cool when they brush his.

She puts them to her face, he isn't sure why, they don't really have a scent, but she smiles as though they did.

He's about to take a step back, he's made his peace with her, when she bobs up, on her toes and leans into him. He feels something soft and warm on his cheek, pressing to it feather light for half a second, then vanishing as Undersee drops back to her heels, smiling softly at him.

"Thanks."

Gale nods, grunting a 'you're welcome' before backing away, tripping a little down the stairs, then hopping the fence again.

His shirt is still sticking to him unpleasantly, but he doesn't really care anymore.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Monsters**

Three, it was decided, was going to be the first of many that was to receive a library, a place where the generations to come would be able to learn about the mistakes of the past, learn, and, hopefully, mold their minds to create an even better world. Writing letters and asking for donations for the Committee to Restore Culture to the Districts, the group in charge of the library, turned out to be just the thing for Madge, to help her feel like she was contributing to the new country's future.

"You've done some wonderful work," one of the committee members, old Ms. Lampasas, a broad shouldered woman with dark eyes and pale hair from Nine had told her after Madge had helped put together a presentation that was to be brought to the funding board. "You should consider joining one of the local committees. You're father was a Mayor, yes? You clearly have an aptitude for it."

Madge had no desire to be in the government, volunteering to ask for donations to help the battered Districts regain some of their identities through restoration was one thing, being a full time committee member was another.

"I'm happy as I am now," Madge told her. She didn't want to follow in her father's footsteps, no matter how much good he'd tried to accomplish, it was a new world, and Madge wanted to forge her own path, and she was certain it didn't involve a full time job with the new Panem government. She wanted the chance not to have her past completely dictate her future, just like Gale was attempting to do.

"Madge Undersee?"

An ashen skinned man with dark rimmed glasses, a little jumpy, looked expectantly at her as she finished gathering up her purse and coat.

He was familiar, she had the feeling she should know him somehow.

His hand jutted out, "I'm Beetee Latier."

Uncertainly, Madge took his hand.

_Beetee?_

Madge frowned. She knew that name.

Beetee, the former Victor, the man that had encouraged Gale's anger, had helped conceive the design for the bomb that was ultimately used against the Capitol, resulted in so much devastation. The bomb that had killed Prim. The bomb Gale still woke up at night in a cold sweat over.

Interestingly, he was more frayed than she remembered him being from during the last Game. Clearly the post-Capitol life was wearing on him. Gale hadn't spoken to the man since the end of the Rebellion, but had mentioned he knew he'd been given a position in the new government's Research and Development Department, creating_good_things, _safe_ things, things that would make life better for the people in the new country they were creating. It didn't matter to Madge though, he had helped damage Gale, and for that she didn't think any amount of new gadgets, however amazing and helpful, would ever clear his name in her mind.

Not that it mattered.

Madge offered him a perfunctory smile, eyeing him warily. He's fidgety, anxious, like he isn't use to talking to people, maybe he isn't, she doesn't know what 'Research and Development' really does.

"How may I help you, Mr. Latier?"

His brow creased a little as his hand dropped back to his side.

"I, uh, I've been following the committee," he takes his glasses off and begins cleaning them. "What you're doing, building the library, it's a good thing, a very good thing." He puts his glasses back on, gives her a faint smile, "I wanted, if it's possible, to maybe help."

She presses her lips into a thin line. Really, she didn't want his help.

Though Gale insisted he'd been the main force behind the idea, the bomb, he would never blame anyone but himself for all the pain and suffering it had caused, Madge still viewed the former Victor as culpable. He'd encouraged a nineteen year old, a man who'd been forced to grow up far too fast and under terrible circumstances, to dig into the darkest part of his mind and devise something so awful, so against what she knew to be his better nature, that it still haunted him, and probably would for the rest of his life.

Beetee, Madge felt, deserved every ounce of blame she could heap upon him.

She didn't want his bloodied hands near the library.

As he stood there, looking frazzled and uncertain, though, she saw a glimmer of humanity in him. She scolded herself, he'd been no more than eighteen himself when he'd been sent to his certain death by the very people he'd made that bomb to be used against.

She forces herself to nod. He isn't a monster anymore than Gale is, he's a victim too, she keeps telling herself.

"Oh, yes, of course." She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and looks around. "Ms. Lampasas would be the one to talk to-"

He shakes his head, "No-I-can't I deal with you?"

"Why?" It sounds rude, even though she doesn't mean it that way. She doesn't understand why he would want to deal with a volunteer over a committee member.

Beetee's eyes flickering down. "You're friends with Gale Hawthorne, aren't you?"

_Ah_. That's why he knew her name. Maybe he thinks it'll be easier to communicate with someone he has even the most tangential of connections with.

Madge nods, feeling her cheeks flush, she and Gale are a bit more than friends.

Swallowing thickly, he thinks through his words.

"I don't know if he's mentioned me-"

"He has."

She says it too quick, too sharply, lets the disdain she feels for him and what he'd helped do to Gale, scratch out in her tone, in the sudden coolness of it, and he flinches, takes a step back.

"Oh," he keeps his eyes trained on the ground. "I see."

He's a victim too, she reminds herself again.

"Mr. Latier, I think you'd be better off talking to Ms. Lampasas-"

"Please," his eyes widen. "I-I know you probably don't think very well of me. Honestly, I don't think very well of myself most days." He takes a deep breath, "I-I've made a lot of mistakes, I know that, but I'm trying to make up for them. I was hoping, being a friend of Gale's, you might understand a little better."

Madge sighs and repeats to herself, he's a victim, not a monster.

#########################################

She takes him to a little café, they get coffee, he fidgets the entire time.

"Thank you, for talking with me." He tells her after a few silent minutes of coffee sipping. "People always ask so many questions of us. They expect us to be…I don't know, different than we are. They don't understand what we've been through."

There are so few of them, a dying breed, former Victors. Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are in Twelve, mostly forgotten, the discarded waste of the Rebellion. It turns Madge's stomach that the people that had used them up forgot them so quickly.

The other remaining Victors were recluses, with the exception of Enobaria. It was easy to imagine people expecting certain things of them they simply couldn't deliver, just as they always had.

Madge takes a sip of her coffee, "No one can."

She can't. She really doesn't see why he thinks she could.

"Gale can." Beetee tells her, "He understood what was going on, what needed to be done. What we were up agai-"

"No he _didn't_." She cuts him off, her eyes darkening.

_He's a victim, not a monster._ She tells herself, but she doesn't care.

Gale wasn't like the Victors. He hadn't been forced to kill in an arena for entertainment, he'd been goaded into it by people who should've known better, people in charge that should've known that revenge over justice was a path that left too many broken people in its wake.

Madge gets up, grabs her coat and purse, she won't stay there and let this man tell her that Gale was like him. He wasn't. Gale knew what he'd done was wrong, that those designs, all their plans, were twisted and cruel. Beetee clearly didn't.

He catches her by the wrist, his eyes wide and pleading. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean-not that-"

She jerks away and heads off with him trailing after her.

"Miss Undersee, please," he begs. "What I meant is that-"

Madge take off running, she's in better shape than he is, he won't catch up. He certainly tries though.

She's outpaced him by nearly a block when she hears a yelp. Turning, she sees he's fallen, tripped over his overcoat. Against her better judgment, she jogs back.

"Are you alright?" She carefully gets down and checks on him, he's out of breath, huffing and puffing as much as Mr. Abernathy did back when he, Katniss, and Peeta were training before the Quarter Quell.

He winces as she offers him her arm, pulling him up.

"Thank you," he manages to sputter.

Nodding her acknowledgment, Madge turns to leave once he catches his breath, he's fine, she can leave him with a clear conscience now.

"Miss Undersee, please," he catches her wrist. "I only meant Gale can appreciate our mindset. We did horrible things, things we thought were the only option at the time. I won't even try to defend our design for that bomb, the one that killed Katniss' sister." He lets go of her wrist. "We were lost our humanity, and we'll spend the rest of our lives trying to get it back."

Talking is obviously not his area of expertise, but Madge thinks he's pinned words on his thoughts beautifully.

"Working in Research and Development I build things, but not always things that will be accessible to everyone. I want to help with the library. It's something constructive, something that will benefit everyone, not just this group or that group." He takes his glasses off again, they're a little crooked from his tumble. "Does that make any sense?"

It does. It sounds so painfully like Gale, trying to make up for all his past failings, that she can see why the two had gotten on so well. Even if they'd been horrible influences on one another.

Madge takes a breath. Beetee is a victim, not a monster.

"They've discussed putting the card catalogs on computers. Before the Dark Days that's how they'd been. It'll make more room for the books." She gives him a small smile, "They've about scrapped it because we don't know if we'll get the funding to make it, and quite honestly, no one would even know _how_to make it."

Beetee's face lights up, "I can do it! Funding won't be a problem, Miss Undersee."

He shakes her hand, delight etched across his face, in his crooked smile.

"Thank you," he says again.

They walk back to the café, they'd left without paying and Madge has to meet Rory to get a ride back to his family's house where she's staying until her flight leaves back to Ten in the morning.

Beetee finishes telling her about his preliminary plans for the catalog, his mind is whirling in excitement. Madge is going to pass it on to Ms. Lampasas, a task she dreads, he's already confused her but she smiles anyway. She feels like she's made his day. Ms. Lampasas will just have to accept Madge's poor interpretation of his design.

He pauses, gives her a weary glance, as though he isn't certain what he's going to say is a good idea. There's an underlying need, though, and he takes a breath.

"How-how is Gale?"

His glasses are still a little askew, making him look a bit like a small child asking about a favorite playmate. Madge wonders how long he's been waiting to ask.

She feels her lips sneak up, takes her lower one between her teeth as she ponders Gale, "He's doing well. Doing good."

Beetee's mouth turns up, "Oh?" He pushes his glasses up his nose, squints at her, as if seeing her for the first time. He smiles, "Oh, I see."

Her heart speeds up.

"I'll make sure to send the preliminary work up on the catalog to you, and thank you, again, Miss Undersee. I won't disappoint you."

#######################################################

Madge pressed herself further into Gale's chest as they swayed on the dance floor of the reception area at the library. It was chilly out, and she was attempting to leach every ounce of heat from his body she could. He took this as a sign he was free to let his hands roam free across her back, impractically bare in the dress.

She really didn't need to let Gale have input on her dresses anymore.

"I'm really proud of you," Gale whispered against her neck, his lips brushing against her skin. A chill shot up her spine and down her arms, out her fingertips at the contact. He chuckled. "If you're that cold we should go back to the room. I can warm you up better there."

_I'm sure you could._

She shot him an annoyed look up through her lashes that only made him laugh more.

The palm of his hand, warm and rough, pressed into the lowest part of her back. His fingertips had started tracing lazy patterns across her skin when someone cleared their throat.

"Gale?"

Gale pulled back from her, his face deeply etched with irritation as he turned to see who had interrupted his dance.

His expression switched to confusion when his eyes fell on Beetee.

The man put his hand out, "Good to see you again, Gale."

For a moment Gale just stares. Madge had told him about Beetee's involvement in the library, but neither one of them expected him to show up to the opening. Finally, he takes Beetee's hand.

"Yeah, good to see you."

Whether it really was, Madge didn't know. Gale had only said the man would do a 'good job' after she'd mentioned him.

"You, uh, you met Madge," Gale gestured to her, his hand finding its way around her back and to hip.

Beetee nods to her, a little nervous, "Of course, nice to see you again, Miss Undersee."

Madge gives him her brightest smile, "Nice to see you too, Mr. Latier."

Gale's thumb rubs nervously at Madge's hip. She watches his throat bob as he swallows thickly.

"I've heard about the hover ports," Beetee begins nervously. "It's great, really great."

A tiny smile flickers across Gale's face. "Thanks." He waves his hand, up at the library, "This is pretty great too."

Beetee glances at Madge, "I didn't do much. I'm just glad your lovely friend let me be a part of it."

Gale laughs, deep and rich, rumbling as he pulls Madge a little closer, "She's a good judge of character."

Madge rolls her eyes at him.

The thumb rubbing at her hip slows, she can see him relaxing. His smile widens, more genuine, "Do you want to sit at our table? Catch up?"

Madge almost protests, her wariness of the man flaring up, then he smiles. She sees the humanity he's fighting to regain.

He's like Gale, he's a victim, not a monster. He deserves a chance for his past not to control his future, and Madge won't be the one to deny him that.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

Happy Valentine's Day!

**Sugar**

Gale's father had promised him he would help him with the snares. So, when Sunday morning rolled around, he bound into his parents' room and jumped between them in the bed.

"Get up!"

"Gale!" His mother whispered harshly, "Not so loud. You'll wake the baby."

He cringed. He'd forgotten about Rory.

The baby stirred in his basket, made a few creaking noises, but mercifully stayed asleep.

His father put his pillow over his head. "Just a little bit longer."

Gale flopped on him, "_Please_, dad, _please_. You promised."

It was eight in the morning, they were wasting daylight.

Finally, after an hour of waking his father again and again, Gale finally managed to get him out of bed. His mother made them a small breakfast of the last of rabbit from the week before, then packed them some bread and cheese for lunch, before they ambled out the door.

Gale bounced along, eager to start the day.

###############################

He was less eager when the day was ending.

His feet drug along the pavement as he followed his father through the backside of the merchants' stores, peddling what he could to the ones he knew would buy.

His father was finishing with the cobbler, he was bargaining over several pelts, when Gale let his eyes wander. Immediately, they caught on a flash of color in the dull alley.

A ball, red with a stripe, flew up, over the tops of the dumpsters, then back down again, before flying up again.

Curious, Gale backed away from his father, still deep in discussion with the cobbler, and crept over to where the ball was coming from.

A little girl, smaller than him, blonde headed in a blue dress, covered from top to bottom in white powder, though someone had taken the time to wipe her face clean, was throwing the ball as high as she could and catching it over and over again. It took several tosses before she felt eyes on her.

She'd already thrown the ball up, it had just left her hands, when she looked over at Gale. Her mouth formed a little 'o' in surprise before turning down, her eyes widened, panicked, and she darted off, back into the store. The ball came crashing back down, hitting the empty space she'd been in, then bouncing and rolling to the center of the alley, into a puddle.

Gale felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to find his father frowning.

"Scares easily, doesn't she?"

His father walked to the puddle and picked up the ball, drying it on his shirt, then striding up to the door the girl had run in to.

A minute after he knocked, an old man in chipped glasses came out, wiping his hands on his apron. The tantalizing smell of chocolate, a treat Gale had only had once that he remembered, wafted out after him. His bushy eyebrow arched and he smiled brightly. "Ah, can I help you?"

Gale's father smiled and held the ball up, "Your girl left this."

The old man squinted, pushed his glasses up his nose, and smiled before catching sight of Gale. When he did, his smile faltered.

"I see." He waved his hand at Gale, "Some boys took her other one, just the other week, so she's a little…"

The old man shrugged, made a vague gesture with his hand. What that meant, Gale didn't know.

Gale's father frowned, "Boys from the Seam or boys from Town?"

The old man, his name tag is for the sweet shop and says Herschel, smiled sadly, "Does it matter?"

Judging by the way his father's brow creased, it mattered to him.

When Herschel from the sweet shop disappeared back into the store to find the girl, Gale's father held the ball out to Gale.

"You scared her, you give it back."

Gale scowled, "I didn't mean to scare her!"

His father smiled, tossed the ball up and caught it. "Doesn't matter what you meant to do, what matters is what she thought." He took Gale's hand and put the ball in it, "It takes many good actions to erase just one bad one. Unfortunately, you aren't trying to erase your own bad actions, just people like you."

That made absolutely no sense to Gale, that he was having to give some stupid girl her stupid ball back because of what other boys had done, but he held onto the ball anyway, resigned to his fate. He hoped she didn't try to kiss him. Girls did weird things like that when you were nice to them.

When she appeared, just as powder covered as she had been, trying to hid behind Herschel the candy man, Gale thrust the ball out.

"Here."

She must've been a little slow, at least that's what Gale thought, because she just stared at the ball, then to Herschel, then back to the ball. Finally, Herschel prompted her.

"Take the ball, Madge. Thank the nice boy."

Madge blinked, eyes flickered from the ball to Gale, then snatched it from him, as if she thought he might try to pull it back. She ducked back behind Herschel, peaking out just enough of her little blonde head to look between Gale and his father with her wide pale eyes and murmur, "Thank you."

Gale's father gave her his brightest smile, the one he usually reserved for Gale when he got his snare right on the first try, "You're very welcome little lady."

He shot Gale a look.

"You're welcome," Gale muttered.

Herschel the candy man gave Madge a little nudge back toward the smell of chocolate, giving Gale and his father a quick smile, which they took to mean they were done there.

He and his father had turned, were several yards off, when a tiny voice called out to them.

Madge came running toward them.

_She's going to kiss me!_ Gale was prepared for this. His father had warned him about the magnetic charm of the men in their family…

She skidded to a stop in front of them and thrust a paper sack she'd been clutching in her little hands into Gale's chest.

"Poppa say give'is you."

Then she took off, didn't even _try_ to kiss him, just ran back down to old Herschel waiting in the doorway.

Gale frowned, opened the sack and found several clumps of something brown.

"Fudge." His father clarified.

"Why did they give me fudge?" His nose wrinkled.

His father smiled, "Maybe he's making up for something too."

Gale could imagine a thousand things someone from Town could be making up for, and it would take a lot of fudge to make those amends. Did making amends for something you hadn't done make something charity? He stopped, "Should I take it back?"

There's a boom of laughter, "Gale, when a pretty girl gives you candy, you don't take it back."

Gale wrinkled his nose, "Ugh!"

"You didn't think she was pretty?"

"No." He answered, a little too quickly.

"You looked awfully scared when she came running to us. Did you think she was scary?"

Hardly. "I thought she was gonna kiss me."

His father laughed again. "Is that why you look so disappointed with the fudge? You want to go back, get a kiss instead? Or maybe give her one?"

Gale huffed, his father had lost his mind. Of course he didn't _want_ her to kiss him. "She's all dirty." Who knows what that white stuff was.

"I think it was powdered sugar," he smirked. "Make a kiss that much sweeter."

Gale stopped, rolled his eyes, "You are so weird."

"You think that now," his father chuckled, "but in a few years…"

_I'll believe it when it happens._

########################################

Madge was covered in powdered sugar. Gale could see it in her hair, across her cheeks in a pale blush where she'd attempted to wipe it, at the tip of her nose, along her arms, and, most tantalizingly, across her chest, down past the point where her shirt dipped to a 'v'.

"Did you have an accident?"

She wrinkles her nose.

"Well, I was making fudge and I had the powdered sugar out, and I thought I'd closed it, but when I went to put it up…" She waves at her hands at herself. The mess spoke for itself.

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" He smirks. He'd just run down to his truck to grab his papers for work, it had been less than five minutes.

Madge sighs, begins dusting herself off, "If Katy-Jo Lewes would just let me put it in containe-"

Gale cuts her off, kissing the traces of the sweet powder off her lips. His mouth trails to her neck, then chest, smearing the powder on his own face as he went.

"You're making us both sticky," she murmurs.

_So?_

He makes a needful noise in the back of his throat.

His father had almost been right, the kisses were sweeter, but Gale was positive it was the girl covered in the powder that made them so, rather than the confectioners' sugar.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Pretty Dress**

Gale watched Madge adjusting the top of her dress, examine her makeup and hair in the mirror, make a face, sigh.

Madge no longer had pretty dresses and frilly bras that he could just catch glimpses of as the straps slipped down her shoulders. Thinking back, he realizes her dresses were never as extravagant as he'd thought them to be. They were practically simple compared to the ones she and the other women wore to the galas.

Now she borrowed dresses from her roommate, but seemed to have no desire to buy her own.

"I look so…"

_Beautiful_? He thought, though he didn't say it. Gale wasn't certain they were to the point in their friendship where he could tell her she looked like every man's fantasy without sounding like some kind of creep.

She was beautiful, though, gorgeous. He hadn't let himself realize it until she'd gotten so mad at him over being a _tad_over protective, a _smidge_ possessive of her.

Now it ate at his mind whenever he saw her. He needed her in his life, couldn't face losing her like he'd lost Katniss. When they went places he held himself in check, tried to let her lead her own way. She could take care of herself, she wasn't weak, not a pushover.

But _god_ she was beautiful. Even if she didn't know it.

"I look so…" She looks over at him. "Pasty."

He snorts, "Pasty?"

Madge nods, "Especially next to you. I look like I'm sick."

She was pale, was normally, but especially so in winter. Her golden hair and pale blue eyes only served to lighten her.

Gale can't stop himself, he reaches out and brushes a few loose strands of hair from her shoulder and rests his olive colored hand on her shoulder. His thumb rubs against the softness of skin and hand itches to run over the top of her bare back. She shivers and he sees her eyes flicker over to him.

"You look fine."

_More than fine._

"This color is bad for me."

Gale rolled his eyes.

"That color is fine on you."

She's being too critical of herself, inspecting every angle too closely. Her nose wrinkles.

"No. It washes me out." She smoothes her hands over her stomach. "It looks like…"

Her head shakes and she turns back to her suitcase, pulling another dress out. She looks back at her reflection in the mirror, shakes her head again.

He catches her around the middle before she can disappear back into the bathroom and change out of her perfectly fine dress.

"Stop," he pulls her to him, enjoying the heat from her body as it radiates into his chest. He turns her back to the mirror, takes her chin and makes her look at herself. "What the hell is wrong with this dress?"

Personally, Gale likes it. It's soft, the neck line is low enough for him to enjoy up close, but not so much that all the men at the party will get an eyeful, her neck and shoulders are bare, but her lower back is covered, making his temptation to run his hands on her skin a _little_ less. He doesn't see what the color has to do with anything.

Madge's lip puckers out, "Doesn't it remind you of anything?"

Huffing, Gale looks at the mirror, tries to figure out what her dress could possibly remind her of. He shakes his head. "I don't know."

A crease forms between her eyes and she looks down, picks at her nails and mumbles something.

Gale lets his chin come to a rest on her shoulder, "What?"

Her body stiffens for a moment, Gale watches her eyes flicker over her dress in the mirror, then look at his reflection.

"It…reminds me of my Reaping Day dress."

Frowning, Gale straightens up, turns her to him.

The dress is a similar color, has a similar length, but he doesn't see anything beyond that. Unless he was completely oblivious, her Reaping dress hadn't exposed her shoulders and neck, hadn't dipped in the front, or been made of such a tantalizingly material.

He shakes his head, "I don't really see it."

Her expression is pained, "Like you even remember my dress, Gale."

It had been a very pretty dress, he remembers that. He remembers thinking how expensive it probably was, how much money he could get for it at the Hob, how impractical it was, how he'd thought she was spoiled for having it.

She _had_been pretty in it though. Now that he thinks about it, she was beautiful even back then, he'd just been so caught up in his anger and resentment he hadn't let himself truly appreciate it.

"I remember it," he shrugs. "It was a pretty dress and so is this one."

Madge turns back to the mirror. "No. It was expensive and it was stupid to wear a white dress in a coal mining district. This dress…it's too similar."

She starts to take off again, but he catches her by the wrist. He gives her a tug toward the bed and pulls her to sit next to him.

He shifts, turns to look at her. She's staring at her hands, keeping carefully still. Gale reaches out and brushes the loose strands from her shoulder again before running his rough hand across the top of her back, letting it come to a rest at her neck. He gently kneads the muscle at the junction, hoping she'll relax a little.

"Madge, you look great in it." She would look amazing in a bag, not that he would encourage her to go out in one, maybe just in the room…

"I-I just don't want to…" Her eyes flicker to him, "I don't want to have reminders of that. Of the bad stuff." Madge's lips press together, "Sometimes, I see things and it makes me remember how things were and how _we_were and…"

She doesn't want to be like that. He can see it in the shine of her eyes and the defeated droop of her shoulders.

Gale suddenly remembers his scornful tones, his hateful glares, the cold way he'd always treated her.

He can understand why she wouldn't want even the slightest reminder of how badly he'd been toward her. It was all ugly feelings. She'd never deserved his cruelty, but she'd taken his barbs and tossed them back, masking any pain with a forced smile.

They weren't those people anymore, they were friends, and she was letting him know, whether she realized it or not, just how much all the words he'd thrown her way had really affected her.

Before he can stop himself, Gale pulls her to him, lets himself have the luxury of her hair in his face and her warmth under both his calloused hands. He squeezes her tightly.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass to you." He's said it before and he's probably going to say it again. His attitude toward her was just one more in his list of sins he'd spend a lifetime making up for.

Her head shakes in his chest, "That's not what I meant."

She tries to pull back, but Gale's enjoying her closeness too much and keeps her in place. A little giggle bubble out of her and she wraps her arms around him.

"I-when I wore that dress, I always felt like such an outsider. Like I belonged even less than I normally did."

He remembers her constantly wearing her plain school uniform most days. Her other clothes were remarkably dull too, not the things he expected of the Mayor's only child. She always had the look of someone trying not to stand out, not blend in, but not distinguish themselves. Now he knew for a fact she had been.

She had been an outsider, a cloistered child with too much scorn thrown her way simply for existing. Gale had been one of those throwing that scorn, and now he knew just how much his thoughtlessness affected people.

"I was terrible to you. I helped make you feel that way."

She starts to protest, but he stops her. He'd helped add to her misery, her exclusion, and he was going to help fix it.

"You were beautiful in that dress, whether it was expensive or white or whatever, and you're beautiful in this dress."

"But-"

"No, you're beautiful." God it feels good to tell her, to say it out loud, say it to her.

She manages to tilt her head up to look at him. A little smile creeps up her face. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He'd just said that hadn't he? He didn't mind saying it again though. "Yeah, you're beautiful."

Madge tucks her head down, into his chest, and murmurs, "Thanks."

Why she feels the need to thank him for pointing out something that was painfully obvious he didn't know, but if it won him a few more minutes of pressing closely to her, he'd take it.

After too short a time, she pulls back and he lets her. Her smile is bright as she looks down at the dress again.

"You really think it's okay? I'm not too pasty? It isn't too like my Reaping dress?"

Her old dress might've helped to ostracize her, but no one in their right mind would turn her away looking as she did now, with her bright smile and soft voice. Definitely not Gale.

Gale nods, "You're beautiful." He would say it a thousand times until she believed it.

Pretty dress or not, she was beautiful.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Just Friends**

Madge carries a tray to the table, several coffees, all black, no sugar, no cream.

"Thank you, young lady," Jefferson grins.

The other wranglers all murmur similar sentiments.

They were in from a long drive, moving a herd from the northern tip of District Ten down to the Stockyards. During the summer it was hot and miserable, but during the winter, it was bitterly cold, though they treated both seasons the same, drinking mug after mug of coffee year round.

She'd just finished getting away from them, they constantly joked with her, laughed about the time they'd tried to teach her to ride, when the bell over the door jingles.

Madge paid it no attention, it was getting close to time for the kids to come, so she took her empty tray to the counter and began restocking the cupcakes.

She'd bent down, begun adjusting the display, when something tapped her on the shoulder.

"Katy-Jo Lewes, I'm busy." Whatever it was she could do it herself. All she was doing was flirting with that burly wrangler, Wyatt.

The tap came again.

Katy-Jo Lewes was the boss but did she have to be so _bossy_? Frustrated, Madge stands and turns, "Look, just do it your-"Someone thrust a large bouquet of purple irises in her face.

The flowers dip a little and Gale grins back at her.

Madge's mouth drops. He wasn't supposed to be in until the next day. She lunges at him, throws her arms around his neck and laughs.

"You're early."

Gale nods into her hair, "They cancelled one of the meetings so I decided to catch an early train, spend an extra day with you." He whispers conspiratorially, "Think Crazy-Jo Loon will let you off early?"

She doesn't know. She's already off for the next few days, already had plans to spend them with Gale, it might be a bit of an overstep to ask for the end of this shift too.

Madge lets go of him and shrugs. He looks so hopeful, so excited to take her with him early and not have to immediately go to some stupid gala or a meeting, she at least has to ask.

"Go outside and wait."

Once he's out, standing like a lost puppy on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, Madge makes her way back over to the table of wranglers, where Katy-Jo Lewes is laughing and cutting up. She holds up a hand, "I already know what you're gonna ask."

"You psychic now Katy-Jo Lewes?" A dark skinned wrangler, Jessup, laughs.

"I'm not blind," she gestures over her shoulder to where Gale is, just outside the window.

"That your boyfriend, Madgey?" Austin, ash blond and brown eyes, stands to get a better look.

Jefferson grins, begins cackling, "He's a _General_. Fancy suit and everything."

Madge rolled her eyes. The men were such gossipy hens sometimes. "He _isn't_my boyfriend." They were friends. Period. End of sentence.

They exchange looks.

"He just brought you flowers."

"You looked pretty excited to see him."

"That wasn't a _sisterly_ hug, not by the way _he_looked anyway."

Jefferson leans toward her, "Boy's smitten."

He is _not_. These people watched too many Capitol programs, saw romance in every interaction, all the wrong places. Gale wasn't her boyfriend.

"You all need to lay off the coffee," Madge crosses her arms. "Gale is just my friend. We've know each other a long time. We're…comfortable with each other."

Katy-Jo Lewes gives her a sly smile before nudging Jefferson, "They share the bed."

"Oh?" Jefferson's eyes widen. "That kind of friends, huh?"

_What?_ Oh, for pity's sake…

"No!"

"It's okay," Jessup raises his hands. "We ain't judging."

The ancient woman that ran the District Community Home, seated at the table behind the wranglers, leans back, giving Madge a nod of approval. "If I was younger, I'd be that kind of friend with him too, darlin'."

Katy-Jo Lewes and Jessup cringe, audibly gag.

"Oh my lord, Mama Muetter! I don't want to think about you doing that kind of thing. Keep your mouth shut and eat your damn muffin." Katy-Jo Lewes shivers, "I'm gonna have nightmares."

Jessup swallows hard, "I think I threw up."

"Gale and I are friend friends, not whatever weird kind of friends you all are thinking of."

Madge needs new company.

She turns and looks over her shoulder at Gale, he's watching her through the window, still with that hopeful little smile on his face.

They're friends, _just_ friends.

"So," Katy-Jo Lewes smirks, gives her a knowing look, "what's it your 'friend friend' want you to ask me?"

Madge feels her face heat up as they all look at her with expectant, shrewd expressions.

"Um," she has to make this sound casual, "we're going to District Eight, and he got off sooner from his last trip, so he wanted to know if maybe we could leave early. Get an extra day…"

"Together?" Jefferson arches his bushy white eyebrows, "Yeah, that doesn't sound like anything a _boyfriend_ would want to do."

Jessup points to the counter, where the bouquet of irises set. "He needed flowers for that?"

Austin shakes his head, "Nope. Not like a boyfriend at _all_."

Madge gives them all her best glare. They're making more of this than it is. Friends give each other flowers. Friends spend extra time with each other. Friends hug.

Maybe most friends don't share a bed, she'd give them that, but it was perfectly innocent. They just needed each other, comforted each other, _innocently._ As friends.

Katy-Jo Lewes clicks her tongue, "Madgey, child, you in deep and you don't even know it." She jerks her head toward the window, toward Gale, "Get out of here with your 'not boyfriend'."

After giving the group a hard look, which only served to make them laugh, she goes to the back, up the stairs, gathers her things, her bag, then snatches her flowers from the counter, and leaves.

Gale puts his arm around her shoulders, "Got out, huh?"

She nods, takes her flowers and bops him on the head, "Obviously."

He leans into her a bit, rests his cheek against her head, and lets out a little sigh.

"I missed you."

Madge wraps her arm around his middle, inhales his scent, detergent, earth, his latest travels air, and smiles, "I missed you too."

Friends missed each other.

And they were friends.

Just friends.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

**Worrying**

Gale ran his finger over the downy hair, little wrinkled nose, tiny lips of the baby sleeping in his arms.

He'd held his brothers and sister when they'd been newborns, changed their diapers, and fed them when they were older. He was no stranger to the little coos and hiccoughs babies made.

This was different though.

This was _his_baby. He and Madge's _son_.

Gale was scared beyond belief of what that meant.

When Madge had told him she was pregnant he'd been terrified.

He'd already confessed to her that he was scared of losing her, that he knew he was walking a fine line, was due a tragedy. He was a monster that had gotten too lucky so far, had too much.

Madge had glowed though, burned brighter than the sun in the middle of the summer.

So he'd doted on her, refused to leave the District for even a minute throughout the entire pregnancy, had Vick go with him to the library and look up everything he'd never known about pregnancy and more, just so he would be prepared for anything. Worry ate him up.

"Gale, women have babies everyday," his mother had told him.

"But _Madge_ doesn't."

And Madge was the one that mattered.

Of course, he somehow _hadn't_been prepared for everything.

The baby had gone past its due date, gotten too big, something Gale didn't even know was possible. Babies came early in the Seam, were born far too small and too weak due to lack of nutrition, but never late, never too _big_. He hadn't even read about it happening in those stupid library books, it had seemed such a distant possibility.

It was a wholly foreign concept.

The skinny, redheaded doctor from District Ten had explained something about a pelvic disproportion, that they'd need to do a Caesarean Section, _cut_ the baby out.

"Don't worry your handsome head, there, sugar," she'd grinned. "We did this back home often enough on the cows."

Though from what that lunatic Crazy-Jo Loon told him, 'back home' they'd rarely tried to save the cow.

"But Madge is hardly a cow, General Hotness."

That really hadn't calmed his nerves.

It had gone as well as could've been expected. They didn't do the surgery all that often, so a few times Gale had been a little anxious watching them preparing. He'd snapped at a scrub tech for dropping something and interrogated the anesthesiologist before he'd even let her near his wife.

"Perhaps you need some benzo," she'd said, tilting her head. "You're a little…tense."

Gale glared at her. They were about to gut his wife like a fish, of course he was tense.

Madge came through beautifully, she was a consummate survivor, though she'd been annoyed she had to stay in the bed for several hours. She was even more annoyed when Gale kept insisting she take pain medication.

"I'm fine, really."

"I know you don't like the stuff, but if you're in-"

"Gale, I am _fine_." Madge held out her hands, "Give me my baby." Her face lit up when Gale placed him in her arms, "Look at all his hair."

The baby yawned, stretched inside his swaddling, opened his eyes a fraction to look at the strange giants fawning over him.

They'd counted his wrinkled pink fingers and toes a hundred times, watched him to make sure he was still breathing constantly, had been just a tad critical of the poor girl who'd come in to weigh him and put his diaper on looser than Gale would've liked.

He was perfect and innocent, and Gale thought sadly, he had no idea what kind of monster his father was. Not yet anyway.

"He's so handsome," Madge kissed the baby's head, tapped his nose. "You look just like your daddy."

Gale got up, went to the window and looked out at the quickly sinking sun.

Madge called to him from the bed, "Gale? What's wrong?"

There was a little tremor in her voice, a hitch. It had been a long day, she didn't need more of his worries on her already burdened back.

"Gale." Her hand was out, beckoning him to the bed.

A little reluctantly, she'd get it out of him if he went over and looked into her eyes, he went to the bed and let her pull him down beside her.

"He's going to hate me."

_How could he not?_

Madge laced their fingers, pressed her palm to his before bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it. She pressed it to her cheek, warm and soft, "He's going to _adore _you."

Gale looked down at the sleeping baby.

When he got in school he was going to read about all the awful things Gale had done, all the deaths he'd caused, and he was going to see his father for the monster he was.

And Gale will deserve it.

Madge took his chin between her fingers, made him look her in her eyes.

"Gale, listen to me." She pressed a kiss to his mouth, pulled back and bit her lip. "He isn't going to care about all that. You have to believe me."

Gale didn't respond, just nodded, not really believing her.

"Do you think I hated my father?" Her mouth turned down.

He wasn't sure how his act of evil could be compared to a man who had his hands tied by a corrupt government.

"What are you talking about?"

Madge's mouth twitched up in a sad smile, "Do you know all the horrible things I heard about my father, my mother even, all my life?" She swallowed thickly, "Kids, adults, they would say the most awful things to me. So many things about him…"

"Some of them were true, you know? He didn't have any real power, he tried to make things better in the District, but he had to do some really horrible things. It was the only way to protect the majority, to make small sacrifices."

Gale shook his head, "Your dad was-he didn't choose to do the things he did, Madge. I did."

"Didn't he?" Her voice rose a little. Gale could hear the tremble. "He chose to go into the civil services. He chose to align himself with_them_. He thought he was doing the best thing with the resources available to him too, Gale. Just like you thought you were doing the most good with what you had." She cradled the baby a little closer, "I had my rose colored glasses knocked off and stomped to pieces when I was very little as far as my parents, as far as my father was concerned. I saw him for what he was. A puppet. A good-hearted, but powerless puppet."

And Gale had been too.

He'd been used by the Rebels, had his anger exploited to create something evil, just as the Capitol had exploited the Mayor's desire to save as many people as possible to create a docile District.

"I could never hate my father, no matter what he did, because I saw the good he meant to do."

Even if he hadn't succeeded.

"You meant to do good too, Gale," Madge's eyes shone.

He wasn't so sure, but her faith in him, in the belief that he hadn't been as evil as he knew himself to have been, made him think that maybe, someday, he would believe it himself.

Gale took a ragged breath, let it out slowly, then smiled.

"I just-I don't know, worry." He wouldn't be able to take it, if the baby, his _son,_ hated him.

"Well," Madge grinned, "you know what they say about worrying in District Ten, don't you?"

Gale's eyebrows knitted together. He rarely liked anything those wheat-fed prairie bastards had to say.

"Worrying is like ropin' the wind," she linked her arm in his again. "You can do it all day, but it won't do a thing."

It was a pointless endeavor.

That was…actually one of their less bizarre bits of wisdom. He would never admit that though.

"I'll be sure to thank Loony for instilling you with so much down-home wisdom next time we see her."

Which he hoped was not until the baby was old enough to get married. She'd threatened to have snake skin boots and a Stetson made for him. Gale wasn't sure if she was serious, but it was best to be safe.

Madge snorted, sat the baby on the bed and smiled.

"He really does look like you."

Gale shook his head, "Nope, look at his nose. All you."

"Oh don't say that," her hand jumped to her own nose, covered it.

"You have a very cute nose," Gale kissed the tip of it.

Madge made a gagging noise and Gale laughed, waking the baby.

Gale picked him up, began rocking him gently, and he quieted.

They had a son, whether Gale was ready or not, whether Gale worried all day and night that he'd hate him, they had a son. He ran his finger over the soft hair, little nose and lips of the baby sleeping in his arms again. He was perfect, and Gale would spend the rest of his life earning his love and making Madge's faith in him something he could believe himself.

He sighed, "We have son."

Madge kissed his jaw then let her cheek rest on his shoulder.

"We sure do."


End file.
